


Hunger

by audreyslove



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: Regina must kill before going into a bloodlust.  to prevent the loss of innocent life, she kills those   who commit crimes against others.  One night, starved and desperate, she spots a burglar who may have committed mass murder. But her intended victim is not as he seems.





	1. Chapter 1

She is hungry, so hungry.

 

It’s not a human type of hunger, this gnawing ache that grinds at her bones, and calls for release, consumes every thought she has with a low roar of “eat, Eat, _EAT_.”

 

Every tempting treat that she happens across makes the pain so much more, but isolating herself from seeing them doe not good, ow she sees them in her dreams, dancing,

 

It’s unspeakably worse than anything she had felt before she turned.

 

Though of course, sadly, she’s suffered worse after becoming a vampire.  She shakes her head at that memory, of when she still thought her body belonged to _her._  It doesn’t, it belongs to whatever dark force exists in this universe,

 

If she doesn’t eat soon, that dark force will take over her body yet again.

 

Desperate, vicious, selfish, with only the need for satisfying the hunger on its mind.

 

And god, how her body responds to urges when her resolve is overpowered.  

 

She can’t let it get to that.  

 

Not again.  

 

She won’t be the reason innocent life is slaughtered.  

 

Never again.  

 

She needs to find a meal quick, which is why she took off to the city.  There is a verifiable feast of sin here in London. She doesn’t care much for the whores, the pickpockets and the thieves, they are driven to their crimes, usually, by illness and poverty. She looks for those who hurt children, abuse women, to those who murder, rape, and torture.  

 

Now the only issue with London — and why she usually avoids cities — is that the streets are always alive with passers-by, and she cannot follow anyone into their home, of course, unless invited, so she has to kill on the streets, which runs the risk of her being seen.

 

She prefers to kill her prey in the villages, on the lonely footpaths in the forest.  She can leave the body there, you see, with a bit of post-mortem mauling, and no one even suspects murder.  It’s always an animal, a pack of wolves or maybe even a bear, _something_ that tore and bit the flesh, the lack of blood is sometimes whispered about, but often by the time the body is found decay has already started, and all those issues are explained away.

 

And no one ever wants to investigate, since her victims are usually someone the town has quietly _despised._

 

So she likes the small villages, she can make her home there for nearly a full year, taking her victims from nearby areas and occasionally right in town, careful to never kill more than once a month but also never to kill like clockwork once a month, for that is too suspicious.  

 

In the past, that has had her investigated.  The far too pretty, far too single newcomer coming to town, with an interesting series of deaths coinciding with her appearance to town… well, she knows how to avoid that now.  She’s smarter.

 

For a few decades, she even took a husband to fit in a bit. Chose an idiotic self-absorbed man to marry.  He was blissfully unaware of her true nature, and it hadn’t been as hard as she thought to hide it from him.  But as he aged, and she did not, even he was unable to be blind to her _differences_.  

 

It hadn’t ended well.

 

But that is in the past.

 

She had been in Westhaven for nearly a year, and that area kept her well fed and satisfied until now.  

 

Finding her victims in the villages can be…a bit difficult.  Villagers keep secrets, they explain away every horrible occurs, leaving her to investigate to find the villains in them.  Their crimes are hidden, revealed only to those who are able to gain trust.

 

She was very successful at first, but she’s nearly cleaned up the entire surrounding area.  Someone is torturing animals around the town — she was working on finding out who, but she had no leads, and fuck, she doesn’t have anymore _time_ to find more monsters in there.

 

So she took off to London in a flurry, in a race against her building hunger.

 

She’s walking down a darkened alley when she sees a horse-drawn carriage approaching, smelling of food and wine.  It’s late at night and unusual for the time of day, and that strikes her as odd. And the home it has stopped near looks decadent and wealthy.  She’s curious, in her experience the wealthy are often abusive and cruel. They ignore the impoverished, even the children, they eat their fill and throw out leftovers while others starve and pick through their garbage.  And that is just the start of their offenses, usually.

 

So this carriage has piqued her curiosity, to say the least.  Perhaps there are some dark secrets in that carriage, instead of a decadent late night meal.

 

She hides in the alley, watching, hoping for an opportunity to find something worthy of death, because she’s hungry, god, so hungry.

 

A curious thing happens, then.  

 

She sees a man in a mask enter the alley, unbeknownst to those in the carriage.  Truly in this darkness, no one could see him, no one with human eyes, anyway.

 

But she can see perfectly in darkness, unfortunately for this stranger.

 

He opens the cart’s back door, and she thinks, when he grabs that jug of ale, he means to rob them, in which case she’d let the man be on his way and leave.

 

But he opens the jug and pours some powder in it, then sneaks back into the alley, hiding not far from her.

 

She can smell it in the air, it is medicinal, this powder, she cannot tell if it is _poisonous_ however.

 

She thinks no, it is not.

 

But it is interesting. And perhaps it’s worth staying for a bit longer.

 

The driver is knocking on the door now, and she waits, watches as a well dressed, uniformed man answer.

 

“Chief Nottingham,” the driver says, bowing (actually bowing!).  “I found myself in excess of food tonight. I thought you might enjoy a late supper snack.”

 

There is silence, and then this Chief Nottingham inspects the cart, perusing food items.

 

“You wouldn’t be giving me any spoiled meat, would you, Jefferson?” Nottingham asks.

 

“No, it’s fresh today from our restaurant.  I give you what would normally go to our family and friends.”

 

“The leftovers,” Nottingham gripes like the ungrateful asshole Regina already believes him to be.

 

“Well why not come into the pub for a meal, on the house?” this Jefferson inquires.  “I want to assure you that going into business with me has its benefits.”

 

Nottingham just grunts.  “Take it in. I’ll think about your offer.  Though I’m not very hungry, I must say.”

 

Regina's blood boils thinking of the starving orphans not too far away, yet the food is delivered to this well-fed Nottingham anyway.

 

He might have claimed he wasn’t hungry, but he sure is thirsty.  He and his wife, and another man she thinks might be his older brother, or maybe a father… some sort of relative, all partake in the wine given to him.  Even the servants sneak some wine.

 

She watches, listens to the voices inside the Nottingham home as their loud boastful laughs become slower and stuttering.  Nottingham’s wife has ventured upstairs. Regina spots her through a window, watches her fall to her bed with a sudden drop.  Nottingham is in a living room chair, appears to be entirely unconscious. One of the servants — the one who snuck the most wine — is lying on the kitchen floor.

 

The man in the mask is clever, and quiet.  She doesn’t spot him until he is already inside — must have snuck through a window on the other side of the house.  

 

He’s robbing them now, taking all that food, as well as some coin and some valuables, bundling it up in an ever-growing sack.

 

He killed these people, she realizes.  She was wrong about the powder, it seems it _was_ poison.  He has killed not only the man of the house but the servants and the man’s wife.  For their wealth, it seems.

 

She watches this masked man come within a breath of Chief Nottingham, staring him down as if to make sure he’s dead.  And then he takes off to the other end of the house to make his exit.

 

She usually doesn’t prey on thieves.  But this man isn’t just a thief. He’s murdered an entire house full of people.  

 

She’s found her monster.

 

The hunger inside her is pulsing, now, at the thought of being satisfied, finally, thank god, or Lucifer, or whoever has given her this new guilt-free feast.

 

She’s quick to the other end of the home, ready to pounce, but…

 

The masked man is not quite alone.  He’s handing things to a man who keeps running it off to a nearby horse and cart.  They are really making away with quite a bit.

 

This masked man may be a murderer, but the man helping… she’s not so sure about.  There’s a kindness in his eyes she can’t shake. And she doesn’t really need the blood of two.

 

She can wait.  She can follow them, and wait for them to separate.

 

.::.

 

Regina is a predator.  A vicious, calculating predator.  She’s equipped with everything she needs to stalk her prey, including the ability to track prey without making much of a sound.

 

She can tell these men are skilled thieves, and would normally catch on to someone trailing them.  But they don’t notice her presence as they ride.

 

The masked man is no longer wearing a mask, and that’s a shame.

 

He’s actually very good looking.  His eyes are blue, like deep pools of lake water, like the sky in those vibrant moments before the sun sets.  It’s almost a pity that no one else can appreciate these eyes, not in the dark.

 

His jawline looks as if it were chilled by an incredibly talented sculpted, lips naturally pink in the night air, a flush of red highlight his perfect cheekbones as well.  

 

She hasn’t felt _attraction_ in a long while, at least not to a man.  She’s had sex, she’s found herself drawn to other vampires, occasionally, but she hasn’t found herself drawn to a human make in a long time, certainly not enough to pierce through the hunger inside her.

 

She’s not sure _how_ she’s able to feel anything besides that pain, and it is jarring, to say the least.

 

Perhaps he’s such a delicious meal, and she’s so hungry, her emotions are playing tricks on her.

 

God, she really needs to eat.

 

When the two fo them stop she can almost cry from happiness, surely these men will separate after hiding their wealth for the night, and then she can eat.

 

An interesting place to hide stolen property, she thinks.  A workhouse.

 

She realizes the truth right before the no-longer-masked man shimmies up to the second-floor window and knocks.

 

“Robin!” A boy opens the window with a cheesy grin.

 

“Hello, Henry.  Special delivery, just as I promised.”

 

No.   _No, no, no._

 

“Is that roast beef?” The boy squeals, pointing to the roast in John’s hand.

 

“Yes, it is, but Henry, as we discussed, we must be quiet.”

 

“I know.” Henry’s voice drops to a whisper Regina can hardly hear herself.  “If Mr. Pan finds out, he’ll take all the food for herself and beat us.”

 

“And then I’ll have to beat _him,”_ Robin responds, “and I’m already in enough trouble, we wouldn’t want me to get in anymore, right?”

 

“We’ll be quiet, I promise, Robin!”

 

She’s mesmerized, it seems, unable to move.

 

If she had killed him in that alley, these orphans would be starving, she…

 

Thank god for the man with him.  Thank god she still has the willpower to hesitate.  

 

She remembers he’s still a murderer, at least.  And she is running out of time. A murderer with a heart of gold might cause her to lose sleep, but at least it’s better than killing dozens of innocents.

 

And when she gets to that point, when her hunger overtakes her, that is what happens.  The death of innocents.

 

She’s trying to focus, trying to work out this moral pickle, so consumed with her own inner thoughts she doesn't hear the man approaching.

 

“You look hungry, milady,” he says, those blue eyes sparkle as he holds out a piece of cheese and bread for her.  

 

“I...” she says, too startled to breathe. It’s ironic, of course, because she  _is_ hungry, though not for food.  “No, no, please, give it to the orphans, I… I can manage.”

 

Her stomach burbles, the closeness of _fresh meat_ filling her lungs, yet the temptation to rip him to shreds isn’t as bad as she would have thought.  

 

Even as starved as she is now, for some reason she cannot find it in her heart to kill him.

 

“As you wish,” he whispers back into her ear, and then an even quieter “stay here, just for a bit.”

 

She does, feels rooted in the ground as Robin travels back to Henry, carrying the last of the food up to him.

 

“But she looks _hungry,”_ she hears Henry argue in a hushed whisper. “She needs to eat too.”

 

“I’ll make sure she does, Henry, I promise you,” this Robin says.

 

She sees that the boy still hesitates, and Robin notices too, asks him what is the matter.

 

“You didn’t make anyone hungry tonight when you took this food, right?” Henry asks, dear god, this child is too good for this world.  

 

“No, my boy, I only take from the rich, you know that.  They have more than enough to feed you children. But try to stretch this as long as you can.  The preserves —“

 

“I know, we will save what we can,” Henry promises.  And then a whispered, “are you sure I can’t come with you?”

 

“Henry you know I would…” Robin sighs.  “Someday, I'll find a proper home for you.”

 

“I don’t want a proper home, I want to stay with _you.”_

 

“I know, Henry, believe me, one day we will make it work.  But for now, I need you to stay here and help all the other boys, okay?”

 

There’s a stifled sigh, and then Regina sees the young boy nod.  

 

“That’s a good boy.  I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

 

“Bring Roland next time?” Henry asks, and Robin laughs.  

 

“Perhaps I will have him drive instead of John, next time.”

 

Henry’s eyes widen and he nods vigorously at the idea.

 

They say their goodbyes and Regina is just stuck watching, unsure of what to do and oddly unable to move.

 

“Come with us,” Robin requests, holding his hand out to her.  “I made a very special young boy a promise that I would feed you, and I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

 

She should run in the other direction, she really should.

 

She can’t kill him, not now, and she _needs_ to eat so badly that every hour she goes hungry she’s at risk for causing a disaster.

 

She follows him anyway, unsure of where he is leading.

 

This man, now unmasked, all his crimes and sins dancing in front of her, so at odds with the gentle touch he gives her as they walk, the shy smile and noble deeds he's done since committing such an atrocity.

That's the problem with masks.  They hide too much.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where are you going?” she asks, as they follow alongside the horse and cart. She can keep them company until she finds a meal, but she can’t… she has to leave.

 

“We are taking this cart back to its rightful owner,” Robin explains, “and then I’m seeing to it that you eat a meal before we beg off for the night. Where are you staying?”

 

“I….” she has no idea, really, she’s been so motivated by hunger she hasn’t thought of where to say she lives, what lies to tell.  “I’m not sure I want you to know.”

 

“You’re a bit clean and nice smelling to be homeless,” John grunted.  “Perfect teeth. Are you slumming, Madam?”

 

John looks skeptical, but Robin does not, he’s just curious.  “She’s not slumming. She’s an American immigrant, did you not notice the accent?” Robin asks, his eyes still looking her over.  

 

“I noticed the accent.  I’m not sure it’s authentic.” John gripes, his eyes still wandering over the woman.  

 

And then he directs his cart towards the right because he has no idea what is waiting down that darkened path.”

 

“Wait, don’t go that way,” Regina says in a hushed whisper.

 

“Why?” John asked, “It’s always safe this time of night, it—”

 

“There’s a group of officers waiting down the next street,” she warns.  

 

Robin looks at her curiously, not at all doubtful when he asks, “how do you know that?”

 

The lie comes naturally.  “I walked past them earlier.  I’m positive they are still there.”

 

Robin sneaks ahead, creeps down the darkened alley why she and John wait.  When he returns, it’s with a nod and a grateful smile. “Group of Bobbies right down there, just as she said.  Thank you, Milady, that might have saved our ass.”

 

John shifts on his horse and Regina notices the way he looks at her now. 

 

He trusts her, she thinks.  

 

God, how are these idiots still alive, with instincts so bad?

 

“So, where are you from?” Robin asks.  

 

“I  _ am _ from America,” she states, because it’s true, it was true, it was her place of birth, a century and a half ago.  “I’m…” she thinks of the phenomenon of slumming, scowling, “I’m new to London. I’m not a wealthy person vacationing in the slums.” She purses her lips, thinking on how to explain.  “It’s complicated.”

 

There’s silence and then, oddly, Robin just accepts the meager information she’s given him.  

 

“You have a story to tell. But you don’t want to tell it now.  And I am not here to make you do something you don’t want to.” Robin says, looking at her with curiosity.  “But you’ve helped us, we are in your debt. So please, allow us to treat you to a supper.”

 

She wants to — really wants to, but is entirely unsure of why.  She’s never felt pulled to spend more time with a human, especially not when this hungry.  There is only the desire to eat. 

 

“Besides,” Robin adds, “Henry said you need help.  He’s never wrong.”

 

“It’s true,” John huffs, as he turns the cart towards a darkened alley.  “That boy always knows.”

 

“He has an ability to pick out those most in need, and most deserving of help,” Robin explains.  “I trust his judgment completely.”

 

Regina could almost laugh at the absurdity of trusting  _ her.  _  She almost wants to tell them for their sake they shouldn’t trust this young boy’s judgment because he has led them into the pit of a lion’s den. 

 

But she can’t really tell them, can she?

 

So she nods and smiles.

 

“I appreciate this, but the but the boy is wrong.  I don’t need help.”

 

“Then allow us to walk you to your home, Milady, and we shall be on our way,” Robin says with a twinkle in his eye.  

 

She groans.  She has a place to stay on the outskirts of town, and could never explain how she is able to get there so fast.  And it’s barely a home. It has shelter, and a bed, some of the protections vampires have to prevent humans from wandering in their home while they sleep.  

 

She sleeps like the dead up until the moment her body is fully recharged.  It’s supposed to be a strength, but of course, it can be a weakness.

 

So yes, picking a place to sleep is important.  A protected, safe place to rest. 

 

But before she sleeps she needs to eat, anyway.  

 

“Why do you care about me so much?” Regina asks.  “I’m a stranger.”

 

“You’re a woman alone on the streets of London after dark,” John reminds her.  “And it seems you aren’t entirely aware how dangerous that is.”

 

“I’m sure you knew that you could have alerted the officials when we were smuggling food, and you didn’t. We owe you a debt, of nothing else ,” Robin explains.

 

“Did it work?” Before she can think of how to reply a man is calling out to them in the cockney accent is hiding in the shadows, but she can see him clearly.

 

“Thank you for the ride,” John laughs, jumping off the horse.  “And yes it worked. But we aren’t alone.”

 

Will stares at Regina, tilting his head as if confused by her.  “She see anything?”

 

“I’m fairly certain she knows were thieves,” Robin says, his voice full of amusement.  “If we were merchants we wouldn’t be giving our food away, would we?”

 

Regina only purses her lips.  “I won’t be any trouble,” she says, “I don’t care about thieves who give to orphans.”

 

“Well, not  _ everything,”  _ Robin laughs, looking at the cart, then taking out a rucksack from the cart, handing another to John.  

 

Right.  Not entirely selfless. 

 

“Robin…” John warns.  “We don’t know her.”

 

“She would have run to the police by now if that was what she was after,” Robin points out.  He turns to her and introduces himself. “Robin Locksley. I’m so sorry I didn’t share my name sooner.  And yours?” 

 

“Regina Mills,” she says above a whisper.

 

“Now I know you’re voluntarily spending company with thieves, but would you be opposed to accompanying us to a place overwrought with lawbreakers and criminals?” He asks, offering her a little wink.  “The food is good, the ale is strong, and there’s plenty of cheap, clean rooms nearby. You know, should you need them.”

 

Actually, a place full of criminals sounds absolutely  _ delicious  _ to her.  But she’s supposed to be a damsel, a poor delicate woman, so she better play the part. She asks, “You think a haven for criminals is a place for a lady?”

 

Robin shrugs.  “I swear, on my honor, I won’t let any harm come to you.” 

 

She’s confused, to say the least, by the sincerity of his words, the kindness in his eyes. People… well, men, to be clear they offer her kindness, but it’s usually either earned after months of teaching their children, working with them on their farms, or caring for their animals.  Usually, the attention she gets from men who do not know her is a bit more predatory. Food and lodging are offered at a price Regina would never pay. 

 

“What do you want from me?” she asks, her voice suddenly so meek. 

 

Robin expects it and nods.  “I know how this must look. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m begging you to come with me to a place you don’t know.  I won’t force you to come with me. But I promise you, all I want to do is to ensure you have a bit to eat, and a safe place to sleep.  I made Henry a promise.”

 

The streets are almost empty, and frankly, he’s suggested the perfect place to find a good meal.

 

“Fine,” she says, with a little smile.  “Lead the way.”

 

.::.

 

Granny’s tavern is on the outskirts of the city, tucked away from the crowds of the city, but also, Robin tells her, far away from the city officials and police. 

 

They jump on a cargo ship on the Thames for a quick, free ride out here and she’s suddenly very aware of how little she’s spoken to the two men who have now become her traveling partners.

 

“You jumped abroad rather easily, skirts and all,” Robin notes, as they make their way between large crates, whispering to avoid the crew from hearing them.  

 

“It’s not my first time being a stowaway,” Regina admits.  “I… I’ve jumped on a few boats in my day.” 

 

“In America?” John asks.  “I hear it’s beautiful there, sweet-smelling air,  gold in the water…”

 

“It’s all a lie,” Regina says softly.  “It’s hard everywhere.” She frowns, and decides there’s no point in completely hiding the truth from them, after all, it happened over a hundred years ago.  

 

“My entire town suffered a deathly illness,” she says, biting her lip.  “I survived, but I was alone, and scared, and thought I needed a fresh start on a fresh continent.”

 

“An entire town?”  Robin asks, looking so… concerned.

 

If only he knew the truth of that illness.

 

“Yes, the entire town.  My entire family….” she shivers at the thought of her father's lifeless body, of feeling that pain but being unable to stop the hunger inside her.  “I had to leave.”

 

“Of course you did,” Robin breathes.  “I’m sorry. Have you just arrived?”

 

“I moved to a village first and worked on a farm,” she explains further because the lies come easily when they are laced with truths.  “But I couldn’t stay. I just… I had to leave.”

 

“You don’t need to explain why,” Robin assures.  “I have many secrets. As does John.”

 

“I’m sure,” she says, biting her lip, thinking about the fact they murdered a family.  

 

“You saved us from some officers.  You know these items are stolen,” Robin explains.  “They belong to the man who killed my wife.”

 

There’s a chill in the air, as Regina looks up at him with a new appreciation.  “So you killed the man who killed your wife?”

 

“I didn’t say I killed him,” Robin says tightly.  “Wanted to… trust me, I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,” Regina says earnestly.  “The love of my life was murdered the day before we were to be wed.  All I wanted was his murderer to suffer death, or perhaps a fate worse than that.”

 

That is true, terribly so.  That desire for revenge ultimately irreparably changed her life and made her into the monster she is.

 

“Did the illness claim him?” Robin asks, almost hopefully.  

 

“Her.  It claimed her, yes.”  Regina swallows, a chill running down her back.

 

“Good,” Robin murmurs, and Regina could almost cry from the easy acceptance of it all.

 

Robin sighs.   “We slipped a sleeping potion into the house ale.  And when they all fell asleep, I… I could have, I could have killed him.  I wanted to….”

 

Her breath catches.  

 

Not dead, it seems.  

 

She thanks whatever force it was that had her pausing, hesitating. This is a life worth protecting, and she damn nearly killed him.

 

“Why didn’t you kill him?” she asks.

 

“Marian,” he mutters.  “My wife. She made me promise, when I entered into this dangerous profession, that I never take more than I need.  I may break the law, I may be a thief, but she wanted me to be a moral one if you believe there can be that. I’m never to kill unless it’s for self-defense or the defense of another, never to steal more than is needed.  To always help those in need. It was Marian’s wishes. And I listen to them still, even if she is not here.”

 

In an odd way, Marian reminds her of Daniel.  So idealistic, such a  _ good  _ person.  Someone who would undoubtedly have kept her on the right path.  If she had listened to the voice of Daniel, she wouldn’t be here right now.  She would have died a century ago, human, and harmless.

 

“We get off here,” John says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  

 

Granny’s Tavern is just a short distance from the river.  It’s also oddly not far from her little hideaway, a thought that unnerves her.  There are few coincidences in the world. 

 

It’s a loud establishment, vibrant and crowded.  But that’s not the first thing she notices. 

 

She notices someone must live here.  

 

Because she cannot take a foot inside the building.

 

Most of the myths about vampires are wrong.  She’s a living thing with working organs. The sunlight doesn’t harm her.  She can eat human food, in fact, she can even enjoy it. But one myth that is oddly true is that she cannot enter the residence of a person unless invited. 

 

So she hovers outside the door jam, feeling trapped and scared, unsure how to approach this situation.

 

Robin seems confused about her state.  “Would you like to come in?” he asks her jokingly, holding his hand out to assist her.  

 

Those are the magic words, and thank god, the protective bubble around the tavern falls away, and she is free to enter. 

 

Robin offers her a wink and holds her hand, building her towards the bar — or specifically, the elderly barkeep manning the bar. 

 

“For you, in Marian’s name,” Robin says, with a reverence that chills Regina.  He rummages in his rucksack, taking out bottles of wine and large jugs of an alcohol she can’t quite discern, perhaps ale, perhaps whiskey.

 

The old barkeep laughs and takes the jugs and whispers back “Consider your tab paid.”

 

“I’ll just start a new one tonight,” Robin teases her.  He’s unloading more things for his sack - silverware, a candelabra that looks like it may be pure gold, a few pieces of jewelry — including a string of pearls that catches Regina's eye.  John gives over his entire sack with a huff, the old woman flashing him a grateful smile before he leaves them, wandering off to a loud bunch of men who call his name.

 

“Courtesy of _Marian_ ,” Robin says again.  

 

“I know, I know Robin, once I sell all of this, all the money will be distributed in her name.  Any causes especially meaningful to you this time?”

 

“I trust you, Granny,” he smiles, and the woman scoffs and takes the items and John’s bag,  gingerly placing them into an area under the bar Regina cannot see.

 

Then Robin motions to Regina and Granny’s eyes fall heavily upon her.  Suddenly Regina feels so exposed, for it’s as if Granny can see far more than she lets on.

 

“Granny, this is Regina.  Henry told me to look after her.”

 

“Did he?” Granny asks, looking at Regina with a bit of wonder.  

 

“He did.  He said she was in some trouble and I had to help her.  And you know how Henry gets.”

 

“I do,” Granny sighs.  “Well, girl, welcome to my tavern.  I can’t offer you more than a hot meal and a bed tonight, though…” she hits Robin’s elbow, motioning in the direction of a man.  “I fear  _ he  _ will try to spend the night tonight.  I don’t think a woman is safe alone in my inn.”

 

She watches as Robin looks at the man she has pointed to, his eyes narrow, his jaw locks.  There’s an anger in him.

 

“Greg Mendel has no place here.”

 

“What am I to do?” Granny asks with a shrug.  “He and his men could take the rest of this tavern and hand them their ass.  I can’t turn down his money. He’d burn this place to the ground.”

 

“What has he done?” Regina asks, already salivating at the thought of a future kill.

 

“He abuses women,” Robin grimaces.  “Horribly.”

 

“Not just abuse.  He  _ tortures, _ ” Granny corrects.  “I’m sorry, Regina, I don’t think this is a story for a lady.”

 

“Maybe not, but it's a story I want to hear.” Oh, how she wants to hear it,  _ needs  _ to hear it.  

 

“Very well then,” Granny breathes, looking towards Robin.  “I don’t mind men who bring whores to my inn, or whores who use my inn for their business.  They have to earn a living, you know?”

 

“I agree,” Regina says easily.  “That is quite a gray area at best, morality-wise.” 

 

“Right,” Granny nods.  “So anyway, even when I was young, and working here, I allowed the whores to use the room.  I’d clean the linens in boiling water, but, you know, I turned a blind eye to the activities going on.”

 

“As you still do,” Robin notes, and Granny can only shrug.

 

“So one day, years ago,  _ he  _ comes over as some guest of one of the whores.  And there are these screams coming from his room, and not the good kind.  I walk in and the sounds are coming from a trunk with little holes in it, the girl, she’s in there.  She’s screaming, and all I can hear from him is, ‘you’re trapped, you’re trapped, you can't get away’ while he pokes a needle through one of these small holes, sticking her like she’s a pin cushion.  I pushed him away and he screamed his innocence. Says she’s a whore, it’s just a game they are playing, and I’m to leave them alone. But then she speaks up, begs me not to go. I had to get my men to come forcibly remove him.  And then they find all this crap in his bag.” Granny shivers. “There were… instruments in there, I suspect he was going to sue them on her. Dental instruments. surgery tools. Chloroform on a rag”Granny shakes her head, unable to finish.

 

“Jesus,” Regina mutters.  “Thank god you intervened.”

 

Granny nods.  “We went after him.  The girl, once she talked, was convinced he had tortured and killed others.  Believes he was the one who had been killing young girls in the area, the one who mutilated and killed these two young girls.  Said he bragged about it. He was a young man then, looked a bit innocent, and could talk a fast game… he got away. Ran off into the shadows.  No one heard from him or saw him for years. Then one day he returns to the area, with a lot of loyal men, and money. He has a beard, his hair is a different color, he wears different clothes, has a new name.… but I know.  I never forget.”

 

“I cry out that it’s him, but he’s such a good actor.  Claims innocence and convinces others that he wasn’t the man I remember, that it was someone else.  That I’m old and can’t remember something 12 years ago. Everyone agrees with him, gives him another chance.  But I knew it was him. He gets to say and then… there’s poor Emma, I’ll never forgive myself…”

 

“We don’t  _ know  _ that it was him,” Robin points out, and Regina raises her eyebrow dramatically, an unspoken question on her lips.

 

“Her body was found, mutilated, locked inside a large trunk.  Her teeth had been removed, nearly every inch of her skin is covered in these small cuts, and she’s missing an eye.  The torture they gave to an unwed mother.”

 

“Emma was a mother?” Regina asks, her eyes darting to Robin.

 

“Henry’s mother,” Granny growls, her eyes still focused on him.  “He was just a babe, and the man robbed him of his chance with family.”

 

“We don’t  _ know  _ that it is him,” Robin reiterates.  But Regina knows. She knows in her bones, that way she does when something hits just right.

 

It’s him.  

 

“Still, it’s best to be safe, girl,” Granny warns.  “He may look harmless, but that man is a monster.”

 

God, at this moment she’s almost glad she is a hunter of monsters.

 

.::.

 

In a way, she realizes it will look obvious.

 

But in another way, she doesn’t care how obvious it looks at all.

 

She’s been drinking with Robin, eating the food she pretends has satiated her hunger, all the while keeping an eye on this Greg Mendell.  Waiting. Waiting to feast.

 

Robin is flirting with her, she realizes.  Her mind is half occupied on her next meal, but she is still paying enough attention to notice the way he looks at her, the way he speaks. 

 

There’s a warmth in her chest she cant’ remember feeling when she looks into his eyes when he grazes his fingers across her hand, and it would be very concerning if she weren’t so distracted.

 

She wishes she were human for perhaps the millionth time since she turned.  Then she could entertain thoughts of touching him back, of kissing him, bedding him.

 

She’s a monster, and he is not.  It’s not even worth thinking about.

 

That thought is confirmed the moment Greg Mendell leaves the tavern.  

 

“Going to check on my damn horse,” he gripes, stumbling towards the door.  

 

He’s drunk, and visible so.  And perhaps that will serve her well.

 

“Excuse me.  I’m afraid I need to visit the, um...” She thinks if they will have a water closet here, or whether she can claim she needs to use the privy out back.  

 

“Granny will show you the water closet,” Robin says, giving her hand a squeeze.  “Be safe.”

 

She is safe, she lets Granny takes her to the facilities, smiles, and enters, waiting, looking out a crack in the door until she sees no eyes on her.  And then she darts out and slides out the nearest window.

 

He’s in the stables, alright, but definitely  _ not  _ checking on them.  

 

“Leave me alone!” she hears the voice of a woman.  “I mean it, I don’t want you, not again.”

 

“You always want me,” he growls.  “Come on, give it up, or you know what happens.”

 

“No!” the girl slaps him, she hears it loud, the horses whinny, and the sounds stun him just brought for the woman to escape.

 

Well, that’s that.

 

He starts to run after her, but he doesn’t move much more than a few feet before Regina overtakes him.

 

He’s trying to move, trying to scream, but Regina easily keeps him from doing both.

 

“You’re trapped,” she whispers in his ear.  “You can’t escape.”

 

She feels him screaming against her hand, a muffled  _ Noo,  _ and  _ Please. _

 

“Interesting,” she hums, “How often have  _ your  _ victims said the same words?   _ Please?  No, please _ .  You never listened, did you, Greg?”

 

“Who are you?” he raps into her palm, and she cannot help but laugh.

 

“You don’t care who I am.  You’re wondering why I am here. You’re wondering if this is revenge, if this karma,” Regina hisses, licking down his neck.

 

“I don’t have the answers, Greg.  I just know I’m hungry, and you deserve to die.”

 

That vein in his neck is so delectable, she cannot resist it a second longer.  Her fangs sink in him easily, and then… she feasts.

 

There’s no way to accurately describe what feeding feels like, at least, not to a human.

 

The feeling is intensified after a long wait between meals, and this is one of the longest waits she had.

 

She drinks greedily, every nerve in her body pulses and zings with every pleasurable swallow.

 

She feels her body becoming satiated, the painful hunger subsides, the relief just as delicious as her meal.

 

She doesn’t so much as take a breath before she drinks him dry, even after she’s full, she cannot stop.

 

It happens when she’s this hungry.  She loses control entirely. She’s not human in these moments, she’s just a ravenous, blood-thirsty beast.

 

When she cannot draw another drop of blood, she gives her body a moment to absorb the new lease on life, her head spinning with the remnants of her new indulgence.

 

It only takes her a moment to carry his lifeless, bloodless body out to the Thames, running at full speed, she’s but a blur.

 

She’s had her meal.  It’s time to leave, to retreat back, to sleep.

 

Something inside her screams that she return to the tavern.  She shouldn’t; she should leave all of London and go somewhere else — maybe France again, perhaps Germany…

 

But she’s tired of traveling.  Failing to return to the tavern after a disappearance of a well-known man may draw suspicion and cause her to have to leave the country again, to hide for months, dodging wanted posters naming her a witch or a murderer.

 

That’s the reason she sneaks back into the tavern, picking up a spare ale as she makes her way back to Robin.

 

It’s not him.  

 

This has nothing to do with him.


	3. Bat

“You look like you’re feeling much better,” Robin says upon seeing her walking towards him. He’s with John and some other men she hasn’t yet met. It seems her unusually long absence hasn’t been noticed as... unusual.

There’s actually color in your cheeks,” John says with a smile. “Thought you might be a piece of marble when we first met you.”

She feels very on display, for a second she worries her sudden change in appearance will give her away.

She knows the change - she’s seen it in herself, in her Maker. It’s not a subtle change at all. Her lips become more red, cheeks rosier, eyes brighter, skin clear and hair just a bit shinier and smoother.

She had forgotten about all this when she walked back into the tavern. If they suspect something, remember her sudden change in appearance and absence from the tavern at the same time Greg went missing…

Well, she will have to leave town quickly before the pitchforks come. Because when they come, when she feels threatened, her instincts take over, and she just destroys everything in her path.

She should probably leave now. And she’s finding the words to make an excuse to do just that when Robin speaks up.

“It’s a wonder what a proper meal can do,” Robin winks at her.

“And a little freshening up,” John smirks at her.

She could almost laugh.

They think she wandered into the powered room to pretty herself for the men.

How utterly quaint. And a bit self-absorbed… but… well, she can work with that.

“I feel much better, thank you,” she admits honestly. “Not sure what I would have done without you.”

Robin flashes her a smile, and taps her glass in a silent “cheers”. They drink, and then he asks, “So what do you think you will do next, now that you have left that farm?”

Regina laughs and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I… I like children. Helping them, I mean.”

“Do you teach?” Robin asks.

That’s not the type of help she gives to children, but she has a long impressive work resume to draw on. “Not recently, but before…” she coughs. “I was quite good at it.”

“I’ll bet,” Robin winks at her. “You strike me as the clever type.”

“What did you do before you became a professional thief?” she asks, desperate to move the subject to something that isn’t about her.

He laughs at the bluntness of the question then smirks devilishly. “I was a bartender.”

“A crap one,” Granny grimaces, as balances another round on a tray for the men. “He gave away all our profit, we didn’t make a damned dime with him handing out meals to every man woman or child in need.”

“Don’t listen to the old woman, she loved me here,” Robin smiles. “And I brought in plenty of business, thanks to my charming demeanor.”

“It’s not _business_ if they aren’t _paying,”_ the woman grouses, setting down the last of the ale. “It’s  _charity.”_

“Well, I made us one of the finest charity houses in all of England,” Robin counters, winking at Regina.

“But it’s true, I gave away a lot, and there wasn’t enough to give before the business would suffer and collapse. So I struck up a part-time business that soon became full-time.”

“It’s unusual to find a man who cares so much about strangers. Especially so close to the city.”

“I wasn’t always like this,” he admits, taking a swig of ale. “That was Marian. I was a bitter drunk, disinherited from my family fortune and mad at the world. And then she came into my life, and everything changed.”

“How did you meet?” Regina asks out of genuine curiosity.

It’s obvious he wants to talk about her, the way his eyes sparkle as he shakes his head wistfully. “I tried to steal from her father’s farm. She caught me, but instead of turning me in, she tracked me down herself. And lectured me.” A chuckle bubbles out of him. “I fell for her right then, with her telling me what a pathetic deadbeat I was, and how I could be so much more than that. She was right. I picked myself up, I realized that I had some skill, after all. She taught me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She was wonderful.”

“You married?” Regina asks, hoping he doesn’t mind her prying. He nods though, happily.

“Yes, we wed. One of the happiest days of my life. We only had a few years before her death but… it was worth it.

“How? She can’t help but ask. “How did she…?”

Robin sighs. “She wasn’t the type to ever sit still and watch injustice happen. One day we were in town working on a little scheme to rob some cargo for some of the starving men and women in the workhouses. Marian was acting as a lookout. She had this whistle, a very clear, very loud whistle. Two short whistles for us to stop and scatter, one long whistle for us to come immediately and help her or someone else. We were on the boat, just unloading the first of the equipment.... then I heard the whistle. One long one. I ran as fast as I could, but it was too late. I got there just in time to see Keith Nottingham arresting her. She kept screaming that she saw him, saw him murder the man in the alley. Nottingham called her crazy, said she was being arrested for public drunkenness. The official story is she committed suicide in her cell later that night because she feared being found guilty for murder."  Robin scoffs.  "My Marian would never end her life. And the man that was dead in that alley, the man Marian insisted Nottingham had killed?  He was a fellow officer. He killed his own man and blamed Marian, then killed her before she could tell her story.”

The story isn’t too incredulous, but it is devastating and the way he tells it is so honest, it pains her more than she thought possible. The anger she feels is more expected, rage bubbling under the surface.

She thinks she’ll stay in town for a while.

She thinks this Nottingham will be the next meal she has.

For Marian.

She’ll make sure he knows it’s for her, too. Marian might not approve, but perhaps, if she knew that his death would potentially save her from going into bloodlust and slaughtering hundreds...

Perhaps Marian would make an exception.

“But I don’t like to think of her death,” Robin drawls on. “I like to think of her life. She brought me down this path, gave me a new reason for living, and…. Well, she let me love her and loved me in return. There’s an endless list of reasons to be grateful for her. She was selfless, passionate, and quite incredible.”

“Daniel was like that,” she says, letting herself relive her favorite memories again, just for a moment, “Daniel was my…” but any definition of what Daniel is to her seems inadequate.

“The one you loved, that was taken from you.”

“Yes,” she nods. “He was very caring. Very tender hearted.”

“So that’s why you fit together,” Robin says softly.

She snorts. “I’m _not_ tender-hearted.”

“I don’t believe that.” Robin tilts his head teaching his hand out to hers ever so discreetly. “I saw the way you looked at Henry. And you were clearly starving but refused to take a morsel of food from them.”

She can’t really explain why that was anything but selfless, can she?

“You don’t know me very well,” she wants. “I’m not what I seem.”

“I wish I knew you better,” he quips. “And I’m sure whatever it is you are, I’ll like it just as much.”

“Don’t be so certain,” she warns. “I’m not the pure, good-hearted person you think I am.”

In fact, she’s not a person at all.

Robin raises his eyebrows at her and shoots her a knowing smile.

“You’re a single woman I found traveling alone at night in a city overwrought with crime. Yet you were entirely unafraid. You’re bold, daring, and maybe a bit dangerous. Definitely intriguing. But make no mistake, I don’t think you’re an innocent damsel _._ ”

Well, come to think of it, he has a point.

“Are you as innocent as you seem?” Regina asks, honestly wanting to know. He does seem so unadulterated, so ridiculously _good_ it should make her eyes burn, should make her body want to reject him _._

“I confessed to you murderous thoughts after we just met. I drugged an entire household and robbed them blind. I’m fairly certain there’s not an innocent cell left in my body.”

“And yet…” she gives him a good hard look, sweeps over his body, from his boots up to the top of his head, settling on his eyes. “Somehow you still come across as pure as driven snow.”

“I’m deceptive that way, I suppose.” He sinks his teeth into that bottom lip, and she has thoughts of biting him in ways that don’t draw blood, in ways that oddly still make her blush, all these years later.

God, he’s pretty.

And such a good person. She hopes he finds joy and peace next month when Nottingham dies.

Maybe she will even make it a painful death.

The tavern door swings open, loud, violent, just as Granny rings a bell and alerts everyone that is the last call for drinks.

“Robin!” the man practically flows towards him. She can smell the adrenaline in his blood, the fear so acute. “Robin, I’m sorry, it’s Roland. His fever has spiked, he—”

Robin’s face turns and screws into horror. “He was better, he said he felt fine I would never have left if--”

“He _was_ fine, but the fever returned, and he’s calling for you. I didn't know what to do, I'm sorry, I would have sought a cure to help him sleep, but our apothecary, even on his best day, isn't exactly one I should trust.”

Robin nods, the fear so present in his eyes.  “Forgive me, milady. I must… I have to--”

“Roland?” she asks, waiting for Robin to confirm it.

He nods. “My son. He’s—” She knows, she knows human disease acts fast, his fears are entirely rational. “I thought he was getting better. Fuck, this is exactly what happened to Hans.”

“He won’t die,” the man says, though his voice wavers, “It’s not what you think it is, Robin. He is just ill, he wants his papa.”

Robin doesn’t look convinced.

“I trained with a doctor for many years,” Regina says quickly. “Let me help.”

Robin seems over the moon with the thought of medical help so late at night, so much so he's not bothered to ask how on earth she found a physician willing to let her observe -- let alone, train in medicine. 

He just nods, thanks her, then grabs her hand and a lantern and leads her to his home.

He walks up to a stately looking cottage, homey, but well kept.

He hovers by the door.

“Milady, I want your help so much, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that what Roland may have could be quite contagious, I—“

Regina sighs and assures him, “I won’t get sick.”

He hovers at the door, and she almost forgets herself and walks into that barrier that keeps her from entering homes. She remembers just in time, asking “Now, may I come in?”

“Of course, you are always welcome here. You needn’t ever ask.”

He does not know what he’s just promised, but Regina does not have time to worry about that right now.

Her teeth clench together as she wishes death would come as easily to her as good fortune and easy killings.

“Where is he?” she asks. Their home is not the hovel she had suspected. It’s a nice cottage, in fact. It seems Robin is better off than his company would suggest.

Robin leads her, opening the door with a sigh.

“Roland, my boy.”

“The boy is sniffling, but those sniffles turn to tears when he sees his father.

“Cold,” the boy says through tears, “So cold.”

There’s a woman with him, an older lady who looks worn and worried.

“Fever spiked, you could cook an egg on his head.”

Regina places his hand on the boy’s head as Robin holds his hand tightly.

“Who're you?” he asks.

“I’m a doctor. I’m here to help.” It’s a bit of a lie and he seems to know it as well as the woman next to him does.  As sick and young as Roland is, the idea of a female doctor is too ludicrous.

“Will I die?” he asks softly.

“No,” Regina says firmly. She will make sure he won’t.

“Can he keep down water?” she asks of the woman.

“Yes, but he won’t drink. Says his throat hurts.”

“Does he have a rash?” Regina asks, the worry hidden from her voice as best she can.

“No, no rash.”

True enough, the boys skin looks free of any signs of the more fearful diseases.

But she must make sure.

She takes a deep breath and asks Roland to open his throat wide while she holds the wrong end of a spoon against his tongue. Robin holds a lantern as close as he can, and she looks inside his throat and breathes a sigh of relief.

No rash. None of that tell-tale grayness she knows is diphtheria.

This is, as far as she can tell, a bad cold.

The mucus coming from his nose is clear, Regina also knows that this is good.

“Roland, you must drink water. It will cure you.”

She looks up at Robin. “The water should be well boiled before he drinks it. To get out all the toxins that could be in it.”

“His fever,” Robin whispers, “Shall we, what can we do?”

“A cool compress for his head,” Regina suggests. “He needs to eat a bit. Chicken soup.”

“Not… hungry,” Roland whimpers.

“I’ll make him a paste of herbs that should help with his congestion,” Regina says softly.

“We were to prepare an ice bath. And my friend is a midwife.  She suggested leeches—“

“No,” Regina says sternly. “Neither of those cures are good for him. Not with this illness. Do you have mint leaves? I can brew them into tea with some lemon and honey, and perhaps make them into a paste with some oil…

It will work to alleviate his congestion, and perhaps help with this sore throat, but Regina knows it will do little else.

She pours just a bit of whiskey into the tea, rubbing spearmint and peppermint oil on she makes and sits with Roland.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” Roland whispers, “What if I wake up and can’t move like Alexander?”

“His friend has polio,” Robin explains needlessly.

“You don’t have Alexander’s disease, Roland,” Regina says gently, stroking his cheek. “Go on, rest. I will watch over you while you sleep. I’ll wake you if I see you become more ill, okay?”

“You’ll make sure I won’t die in my sleep?”

How difficult it is to be human and have to suffer such fears.  How difficult it is to be a parent and have to hear your child ask such a question.

“Of course I'll make sure you are safe, Roland. But sleep is not dangerous. It is good for you, rest is good, it makes us better.”

“It does?” he sniffles, “that’s what papa says, but he’s not a doctor.”

“Your papa is wise,” she assures. “Now sleep. In the morning you will feel better.”

His fever does quell, the sniffing stops, his soft snores replace the sound of choked cries, and Regina breathes a sigh of relief.

She needs to sleep as well. Her body needs to rejuvenate. She can feel the telltale signs of that need pulsing under her skin.

She looks up at Robin. “Cold compresses. Tea. Soup. _No leeches._ _No ice bath._ ”

“Are you alright?” he asks, and shit, this is rare, but happens sometimes. Without meaning to, she has assessed that Robin and is no threat, that no harm will come to her, and perhaps even that the people here will _help_ her find suitable resting quarters, so her body is making her exhaustion known. Another protection created to promote healing. Fuck this stupid, perfect body.

“I am fine, but I must go.”

“Regina,” he begs, “let me take you to where you are staying. It is late and you are exhausted. I cannot have you alone at such an hour, the night is so dangerous for a woman.”

“It’s not dangerous for me,” she scowls, for she is not a woman at all. “And it’s so late it’s almost morning. I’m afraid I must go.”

“Let me make you some tea first,” Robin suggests. She agrees, lets him wander into the small kitchen area, his back turned as he fills his kettle.

Regina spots the bat, then, the figure hovering outside the window for a split second before it disappears back into the night.

It could just be a bat, an ordinary bat and nothing more.

Just a confused creature coming too close to the window by accident.

Or, it could be….

She _really_ has to get out of here.

Robin’s back is to her and she is quiet as a mouse as she sneaks out of the cottage, praying to god Robin does not follow her.

The weather is damp and her hideaway home is not far. On the outside, it appears to be a half-burnt, broken down windmill. But that outward appearance is a clever disguise. There is a safe resting room inside. It is one of many places known to her kind as a place to rest when sleep is required.

It requires one to walk around loose piles of brick and rotting wood, on uneasy floorboards through precariously stacked rubble, to find a door to a small, windowless room, walls made of a strong concrete. Many natural boobytraps separate her from any intruder, the outside of the mill looking like there is nothing but rot, decay, and dilapidation inside.

Of course, if the visiting bat was who she suspects, none of these things will keep him from finding her all too easily.

It’s pitch black here in this hidden room, but the first beams of the sun were already peeking out through the sky when she first entered her hideaway and the sun must be even brighter outside now.

She likes the dark, it conceals how lonely and bare her life is.

She does not live the lavish lifestyle of her maker, nor does she live a life of vampire royalty who stay in lavish mansions and old castles filled with servants.

She does not have the protection or connections to create a cover story to live like a wealthy person, even if she had the money. Those things all come at a cost, and she’s not willing to do the things she must to afford such a life.

So instead of sleeping in a lavish canopy bed and having servants tend to her wishes, she is here, on a small bed with a cold comforter and a hard pillow. Here is where she will stay until she can find a safe room to rent and a decent job.

Her maker found her method of slumming to be quite the embarrassment, but he also believed treating humans with humanity to be similarly beneath their kind.

She has not seen her maker in years, since he told her he was releasing her, severing their tie so they could no longer feel each other wherever they were, so the blood they shared could not pull them together whenever they desired to see one another. He said they were too different, that it did each other no favors. He had made himself a new monster, a new young vampire to follow in his footsteps, and she would be his focus from now on. Regina had to be set free.

She certainly hasn’t felt him since he severed ties, so there should be no way he could find her.

Still, the image of that bat haunts her. She only saw it for a second, but she knows her maker’s form, knows the way he moves.

It couldn’t be him, could it?

No, her maker is most likely still in his stately home in New Orleans, given the number of loyal servants and comfortable living arrangement, why would he move?

She seeks to quell the anxiety in her stomach by reminding herself that today, ultimately, was not a bad day, even if her maker has returned.

She has feasted well enough to hold her over for quite some time. She lives. The boy lives. London still stands, and Greg Mendel is dead.

Yes, things could certainly have gone worse today.


	4. Bang

She still dreams.

Dreams must be beneficial to healing, or sleep in some way. If they weren’t, she simply wouldn’t have them. That’s how things work with this body.

She dreams vividly, and passionately. The only difference is she’s somehow able to know it’s a dream deep down inside.

Her current dream is so lucid, so real.

She doesn’t want to indulge in it, and yet, she likes it too much to will herself to stop.

She’s in a fantasy world where it doesn’t matter that she’s a vampire and Robin is human. It doesn’t matter that she is stronger, healthier, fiercer, and more cunning than him.

In this dream Robin is dominating her, kissing her with everything he has in him, holding her as if she were some weak, fainting flower. She’s in his arms, rocking steadily against him, feeling that he is every bit as excited as she is.

“You have to tell me,” he whispers, “I won’t take what you do not freely give.”

“What an unusual code for a thief,” her dream-self taunts before kissing him again.

“Please, Regina, darling, tell me,” he still asks, despite the way she’s rocking into him, the friction doing delicious things to her core, his voice warm as honey.

In her dream state she is soft and vulnerable, responding to his every touch in a way she simply couldn’t id she were she awake. Love is dangerous, so she simply isn’t allowed to feel it.

“Please,” she whispers back, rocking into him. “I want you.”

And oh, how she does want him in this dream.

This is unusual, a sex dream. She is had them before, especially after a feeding, but they are carnal and desperate, usually telling her she needs to mate, needs to experience a release.

This is different. It’s passionate and filled with human emotions she knows she no longer can feel when she’s awake.

Dream Robin strips her tenderly, kissing her skin as if it were some hidden treasure, then kisses her below, feasting on _her,_ the feeling washing over her like a tidal wave as she comes on his tongue.

Her dream skips to her on her back, Robin hovering over her, her living a leg to prop up on his shoulder because the angle is _good_ like this, she’s always liked it.

He is gentle at first, but she begs him faster, tells him she wants to watch him take her the way he wants. His pleasure is so important to the dream version of her.

And her pleas are answered, and Robin is taking her hard now, though his words are soft and loving telling her how beautiful she is, how precious she is to him, how much he wants to please her and love her for the rest of his life.

Shes shaking with pleasure as he rattles her hard, moaning her name over and over again.

“Regina please…”

“Robin,” she moans.

“Regina, that’s it, that’s it,” the dream Robin moans, rocking into her harder, and she is so close, she is almost there.

“Don’t stop,” she rasps.

“Please wake up, Regina.”

Terror strikes in her as she hears those words.

She opens her eyes, dream Robin melts away replaced by… by _real_ Robin.

But _how?_

“How…?” Regina asks, “How did you find me?”

“You left tracks in the mud.” he answered softly. “I’m sorry, milady, but I could not live with myself in harm befell you after what you did for my son.”

“I can care for myself,” she grouses. “It’s dangerous here, how did you even find me, I…”

“This mill, you know, they say is haunted,” Robin says simply. “That mystic creatures reside here, that visiting here at night will have you eaten alive by the magical monsters that stalk these grounds.”

“I never was much for ghost stories,” Regina responds.

“Me either,” Robin laughs. “When I was but a boy, my curiosity got the best of me. So I broke in, several times actually. I know my way around this mill.”

“And no monsters?” she asks.

“No monsters,” he confirms. “But I did find this little room. The rest of the mill in rubble, but this small little room is clean, with a bed, even a small table and chair. I thought to myself, what a nice safe place it would be if one was homeless. Safe walls, this curious hidden room, and the legends scaring so many people that vagrants and other violent men avoid it because of the stories of murder and destruction here.”

“A place that is known as dangerous is sometimes the safest spot of all,” Regina agrees.

“You are clever,” he smiles.

“How… what time is it?”

“It is nearly noon, milady.”

His hand goes to her forehead before breathing a sigh of relief.

“You were nearly impossible to wake, yet you called out my name and made these sounds... I worried you might have fallen ill and were experiencing delirium.”

She doesn’t think she blushes, not anymore, but sometimes she can experience the telltale feel of it, the way she would when she was human.

“I talk in my sleep sometimes,” she whispers, “And I do sleep rather soundly. It’s why I need to find somewhere safe.” Her eyes focus sternly on his. “I don’t need anyone to care for me.”

“I realize that now,” Robin says, holding his hand up in surrender. “I just had to make sure you were safe. My son asked for you the moment he woke. He said you protected him in his dreams.”

She chuckles darkly.

“I am no one’s protector.”

“I think you are,” Robin says softly. “I think you give yourself far too little credit.”

“That has never been a problem of mine,” she grouses.

“Let me make you breakfast,” he offers. “Or a lunch, as it were, given how late we stayed up the night before.”

“Robin, you are very sweet, and a very kind man, but your efforts are better spent elsewhere.”

“My efforts?” he asks, his eyes narrowing playfully as if he doesn’t know what she means.

“I don’t need saving,” she explains. “Or food, or companionship. But so many others need all of this, and you are a giving man. Give to those who need the help.”

“You think my motives are entirely unselfish?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“I…” she swallows. “I don’t think I understand.”

Now it’s his turn to look confused.

“You are a beautiful woman, I cannot imagine that you just woke up being this beautiful yesterday,” he says simply. “and you may have saved my son from a false cure that would undoubtedly make him worse. You have a kind heart, and you are bricky, resilient, smart, and you laughed at my poor attempts of humor. This is why I want to spend time with you.”

She is utterly horrified by his words.

“You… you _like_ me,” she gasps, and her reaction seems to puzzle Robin.

“I am completely besotted with you, if you must know,” he says, his cheeks flushing red, ears bright as hot. “But I would never harm you, I know there are men whose advances must be…. rather terrifying. I can assure you that I am not that.”

She chuckles darkly. “I don’t fear you,” she assures with a roll of her eyes. It’s him who should be terrified. This man is a two-day-old pup, lying in her arms promising not to bite her, when it would only take one twist of her wrist to snap his neck.

“Then you must be _very_ uninterested to make such a face,” Robin says, his voice laced with embarrassment. “I understand, of course. I can’t imagine I’m, um, of the right pedigree for you.”

She bites her lip, her old human habit taking over for a brief moment while she sorts out what she feels. In fact she _is_ interested, and that is… perplexing to say the least. Furthermore, she finds this need to assure him he’s more than enough for her, that that’s not the reason she’s running.

“I sleep in an abandoned, haunted mill, and if you haven't noticed, the amount of personal belongings I own are meager at best,” Regina smiles. "There is no one of lower social standing than myself. It is you who are too good for _me_.”

“I’ll remind you that you are either a physician or have the obvious trainings of one. And current circumstances aside," he smiles, “you are a beautiful woman and from the way you carry yourself, I suspect you were born into wealth.”

“As were you,” Regina reminds. “You told me you were disinherited, remember?”

“Ah, yes.” he says sheepishly.

“And even if you hadn’t said so I would have known by your accent,” she shrugs.“But that is the past, and what we _were_ hardly matters.”

Oh, how she wishes her words weren’t true, but they are. The girl who just wanted to love and live a simple life is dead and gone. Now she is a monster.

“What I am now is a homeless woman of a fair education and skill, and what you are is a middle-class man who thieves by night and gives the spoils of what he pillages to the poor.”

He chuckles, his cheeks turning a deep crimson.

“You haven’t told me what you do for a living, but I suspect you aren’t merely a thief. You have a profession, I am betting, though I don’t know if everyone at the bar knows that. In any case, you are far outside what a woman like I should even hope for,” she continues, hoping to bring more of that flush in his cheeks.

But those words don’t make him blush. He looks at her sternly.

“I’ve only known you one night, Miss Mills,” he says softly, “but I can assure you that you are what every man dreams of.”

She rolls her eyes. “Men dream of wealth and subservience,” she reminds.

Robin only shakes his head. “No, milady, you are wrong on that. That is what _boys_ dream of.”

He is clever and charming and makes her smile, and that is perhaps the most terrifying part of all.

“You saved me from those officers and may have saved my son. You at least spared him painful treatment and soothed his suffering. That means I’m in your debt. And I always repay my debts.”

“With what do you seek to repay me?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“I know a place where you can get a job. And a room. A chance for you to get a new start.”

If she were planning to start a life here she’d take him up on the offer easily.

But she isn’t quite sure staying is right.

If her maker has returned, it could be dangerous for her to stay. He has a way about him, he could always detect her thoughts and desires, even when she was human and he was observing her. He is an excellent manipulator.

And yet, if she runs he might think she’s hiding something from him, and his curiously could lead the way to even more danger.

Plus she has already made plans for her next kill. Keith Nottingham, a true monster she can destroy without guilt.

She smiles at Robin and nods. “Any leads you have on a job or place to live would be much appreciated.”

“I do want to offer my spare room,” he says solemnly, “I can promise you no harm will fall to you, and the room is small, it is clean, I usually have a boarder with me, but the last woman fell on better times. Married a friend of mine, actually. The room has been open for months.”

Regina could almost laugh. “You would trust me in your home after one night of meeting me, knowing practically nothing of who I am?”

Robin nods. “I have learned to trust my instincts. It has served me well.”

“Or maybe you’ve just been lucky,” she grunts.

She wouldn’t trust _herself_ in that home. She’s good with humans, but when the hunger comes, it can become… unsettling.

She has a system where she only lets herself feel that for a week. The hypnotizing pull she has towards human blood, the fearful impulse she has to quell.

It’s important to let herself feel that and to fight it, otherwise, she might grow too weak to resist when she needs to.

And while she hasn’t killed an innocent life in a century or so, she isn’t ready to risk it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take you up on your kind offer, I—”

“It is fine, Regina. Granny has a room. She does rent by the week, and it can be expensive, more so than my home, but it’s clean, it’s sanitary, and she doesn’t ask questions.”

“I... I need a room with a strong lock, and even windows with bars, for safety—”

“Of course, she has both, though crime is not as awful here as it is in London proper.”

“How much?”

He winces. “Four shillings a week, but—“

“I’ll take it,” she says simply.

He nods, not asking where she has the money. He could probably tell from her carpet bag that she’s not exactly impoverished.

“You told me you worked on a farm, that you wanted to work with children, but then you seemed to have extensive medical knowledge and trained with a doctor,” he says, his statement every bit of a question.

“My father was a physician,” she admits. It’s been so long, but speaking of her father still conjures up images of his lifeless, blood drained body while she stood over him satiated and well fed.

“Did you train? I know they are allowing physicians in America.”

“I did not attend medical school. Nor have I attended any type of school for an occupation in the medical field,” she responds.

But she _did_ train. She was an apprentice, training underneath another monster, a man who knew of vampires and let them feast on his dying patients in exchange for wealth.

Regina had instead bribed him to teach her the trade. She had taken so many lives. She wanted to learn how to save one.

But it’s been thirty years since her training and medicine has evolved. She’s kept up as she could, but she hasn’t trained.

“I have no formal training,” she warns.

“Yes, but you know what you are doing,” he says, and yes, yes she supposed she does, but what good does that do?

“Our apothecary is….” Robin sighs. “He’s a good man, or he was. When he lost his wife, things took a turn for the worst. Now, well, he drinks much of the time. I think he will soon lose his business. But… if he hired someone to help with his shop… maybe to supervise him…”

It’s almost perfect.

“Could he afford to pay me?” she asks softly. She’s had decades to amass money, and without the need of food or drink she’s managed quite well. She has jewels in her bag that can be pawned for quite a bit, plus money she’s buried at the old farm she worked at… she will get and the rest of her belongings once she gets a room. So she doesn’t need the money, not really.

But an income is necessary to keep up pretenses.

Robin nods. “He had quite a successful business up until his wife passed last year. You’d be saving him.”

“Well,” she says, smiling, “that does sound like an interesting and unique opportunity. But if you’ll excuse me, I do have to get dressed.

“Oh, of course, I apologize. I’ll wait for you outside the mill and help you with your bags back to your new room.

“You don’t have to do that,” she sighs, frustrated he doesn’t seem to get the hint. “I’m not yours to take care of, Robin.”

“I would never presume that you belong to anyone, least of all me,” he says with an honesty that shocks her. “And I am aware that you do not need my help. I just would like the company, Regina. But if my presence is at all unsettling or displeasing—”

“No, it is quite the opposite of that,” Regina admits, suddenly going so shy, unable to meet his eyes. “I enjoy your company and your attention — very much so.”

Something is happening to her she doesn’t quite understand. The more time she’s spent with him, the more she feels these faint, familiar human emotions. Or perhaps she’s just remembering them so well her brain has tricked her into feeling them. Perhaps Robin has some familiar scent, some familiar look to him that is dragging her back to her human days.

There has to be a chemical or biological explanation.

There certainly has to be a reason for why her heart feels like it’s beating hard in her chest as she watches Robin react to her words.

“There are things I want to say that I shouldn’t,” he whispers. “Less you think of me as a fool, for I haven’t yet known you a full day. Allow me to just say how I’ve enjoyed your company - however brief a time we have had — more than you know.”

When she tells him to wait for her outside, she smiles despite herself.

.::.

By the time the day has ended, Regina has secured a real room and a decent job. Granny seems to be a kind landlord and has provided her with a safe room far from the stairs, removed from the hustle and traffic she expects to find throughout the night.

The room is furnished with a small cot and a chest of drawers with a small mirror on the door, but there is nothing else. Sparse, she doesn’t need much more — she could use a wash basin, but she can get that in time.

Walter Merlin is a kind — if broken— man. Regina’s instincts say he’s both safe and weak. That carnal voice also whispers to her that he craves death. She hates that about her form. As a monster she even subconsciously searches for people’s weaknesses and seeks to exploit them.

Walter Merlin would probably willingly let her drink his blood, probably would beg her to do it just to end the suffering of loneliness and grief for his wife.

And that thought both pleases a part of her and crushes the other part..

He nearly tears up telling her what has happened to his business due to his own negligence. His stocking system is a disaster, vials everywhere out of order, and in his shaky stare he has trouble reading labels, anyway.

The books are similarly a mess. It appears several people have stolen from the man, and he’s not kept accurate accounting of his accounts. But she can fix that, she tells him, she _will_ fix it.

She caps off the day by visiting Roland, this time armed with an apothecary bag. She checked his breathing (wheezy, but better) in his ears (clear fluid), down his throat (irritated and red but no boils or spots of concern) and his temperature (100.3, higher than she likes, but certainly not as hot as yesterday).

Robin begs her to stay for dinner. And while she’d never take food out of the mouths of people who need it, she can’t help but notice that Robin has more than enough to spare. So she eats. Very little, just enough to compliment his maid, Ashley’s, cooking. The food is good, it’s warm, well-seasoned, savory. His son is in good hands, the color is returning to his cheeks. There’s a color that is in Robin’s cheeks too, when he looks at her a certain way.

Roland sits at the table in pajamas, slurping soup. She likes that the boy isn’t forced into nicer clothes or scolded for the way he eats, that his illness excuses such requirements.

“Miss Regina, how did you learn how to be a doctor?” Roland asks with such an innocence ease to him.

“My papa was a doctor, and he taught me a lot. Then later a very good friend taught me even more.”

“You’re better than Mr. Merlin. He smells funny and can’t always walk good.”

Regina notices the sadness and concern in Robin’s eyes. She wishes there were something she could do to help the man. But she cannot slay his demons like she can Robin’s.

“Well, now I work for Mr. Merlin. And we will both help one another.”

“Why do you talk different?” Roland asks, his head craning.

Regina is glad that he’s alert enough to ask such questions, but truly…

“She is from America, Roland,” Robin tells him. “Isn’t that fun?”

“I want to visit America! They have buffalo there. Have you seen one?”

“They did not live near me,” Regina smiles. “But yes, I saw one once when I was visiting a friend of mine.”

“Were they big?” Roland asks. “And scary?”

“Not scary,” Regina says lightly. But yes, very big. And they run really fast.”

Not as fast as her, though. She killed a buffalo once, in some desperate attempt to stop the hunger. Drank deeply of its blood, but _that_ hunger didn’t stop. She had kept drinking, desperately hoping for relief, until she was vomiting, her pathetic attempt to never take another human life ending in pain and disappointment.

The creature died without reason. She meant to carry it to a nearby tribe, but she was so hungry and time was running out…

She wishes the buffalo memories were happier, for Roland’s sake. Instead, she makes something up that sounds fun and adventurous. He tells her of the animals he wishes to see, if his explorations into the wild, of the games he plays in the village. She watches his smile as he coughs and yawns and tells his animated tales.

“I think,” Robin whispers, “It may be time for you to rest a bit, hmm Roland?”

Ashley takes him to bed, leaving her alone with Robin.

She means to excuse herself for the night, but as soon as Roland is behind the door, he confesses, “I still fear illness will take him. He’s always been prone since Marian died. It’s as if she took a piece of her health with him…It’s silly, right? He’s not become more frail because his mother passed?”

“Definitely not,” Regina says softly. “He’s a small boy, but strikes me as the adventurous type.”

“He is,” Robin agrees.

“Boys who like adventure throw caution to the wind. They push themselves, run themselves to the ground. Roland may often be sick because he’s so strong willed he is overactive.”

Robin frowns, looking concerned.

“It means something good, actually. I have noticed those who have many illnesses when young are less likely to have illnesses later on. He is exposing himself to more things, and I believe those illnesses, like other struggles, will ultimately it will make him stronger.”

“Does that mean the children of the wealthy will all die young?”

Regina laughs and tells him that actually, in her observation, the wealthiest class have a host of illnesses and diseases.

She’s not sure how to happens, but they end up speaking of life in England, of poverty and opulence, of but also of life on the farms, of the animals Regina tended to, of Marian’s. It should be boring conversation it with Robin it is somehow anything but.

Oh, it is dark out there,” Robin notes — it truly is, despite getting dark so late this time of year. She’s stayed late, lost in good company.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Regina says, standing up, “I’m afraid I’ve stayed later than I intended. I have my first day of work tomorrow and I want to be well-rested.”

Robin stands as well. “I’ll walk you back to your new home.”

“No, stay here with Roland. I can handle myself.”

He argues but she just shakes her head.

“Robin, I’m _quite_ resourceful. I can care for myself. If something happened to you when your son needed you, who would fetch you? Ashley cannot run out unattended. Stay. I have been on my own for _quite_ some time.”

He argues that he can send for Will who lives just down the road, but Regina refuses. Ultimately, he relents.

“If you see me visiting the apothecary tomorrow, do not be surprised,” Robin says with a smile, leading her out.

“If you see me looking fresh and healthy after a good night’s rest and an uneventful walk home, do not be surprised,” she answers.

He kisses her on the cheek soft and sweet, so gentle and innocent. She returns the sentiment. Not to be polite, no, rather because she likes him, and she wants to express that in affection.

That may be a normal feeling, something she felt often as a human. But since she turned she hasn’t quite experienced this.

It’s disarming, but human, and she clings to human emotions for reasons she can’t explain.

It’s just for so many years the only human emotions she can feel are the bad ones: guilt, fear, sadness.

This is a welcome change.

The longing and the pain of what can’t be is something she feels often, and she doesn’t quite like that, but it’s far less painful when she thinks of his lips across her cheek.

She carries that feeling with her as she walks towards the tavern.

It’s a rather abandoned, dark road, and if she were still a woman, she’d be mildly concerned walking alone, particularly with the feeling that there are eyes on her.

But she isn’t a woman and there’s nothing to fear from mankind or natural beast anymore, so she walks unafraid.

Still, when the loud BANG! erupts from above, she jumps for a second until she sees the creature dressed like a man in front of her, apparently jumping down from the top of a tree before landing dramatically in front of her.

“My dear Regina, did you miss me?”

As shocking as the display is to Regina, it’s even moreso to the man who has been carefully watching from a safe distance.


	5. Chapter 5

“Waryn.” She does not use the name he’s taken to when he’s terrorizing people, nor does she use the surname he created for himself centuries ago. He’s developed a mythology of which he is rather proud. She wants to take that pride away in any way she can.

Still, fear rings through her as if she were a child, and she hates herself for it. But she is strong now, and she knows so much more than she once did know. She can’t “Why are you here?”

“Now, now,” Waryn Gold scolds, coming closer to her. “Is that any way to speak to your father?”

“You’re not my father,” She says through clenched teeth.

“And yet I made you, watched you grow, mentored you—“

She scoffs. “ _Mentored?”_

“It’s not my fault you never listen.”

“What happened to your new monster? The one who listens?”

“Mmm, turns out she doesn’t have the power you do. And is far too eager to please.” He shrugs. “She became useless.”

“How unfortunate,” Regina replies. “Go on, make yourself another monster to play with. Leave me, I'm even more useless to you than she is.”

“You see America is a bit of a mess right now,” he says, ignoring her request. “I mean the war was _a lot_ of fun for me, I must say, you really missed out on a feast, my dear. But this reconstruction business is tiring. So I decided to take a little visit to London.”

“How did you find me? I thought you severed our ties.”

“There are always ways, Regina. We are tied together through something much stronger than the maker connection.”

“What do you want from me?” She asks.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “For now, nothing. I just wanted to see how my daughter is faring. It seems you made friends. You always were good at that. Tell me, are you going to slaughter your friend’s enemies for them? Will that make you feel better about taking a life? It _has_ been awhile, Regina, but if I remember my religious teachings that is  _not_ exactly how it works.”

“I’m already in hell,” she snarls back. “I'm well aware of my sins. All I can do is avoid robbing the world of another good person.”

“Is it hell to live a life free from disease, or suffering, to live without fear of death?”

“I’d welcome death and you know it,” she grimaces. “You made me into a monster.”

“I made you _strong_ ,” he snarls. “I saw the potential in you the moment I came to that little village. I took a shy, heartbroken girl and made her the most powerful woman on the continent. And you repay me how, exactly? By cursing your gift and ignoring my every attempt to teach and keep you and our kind safe?”

“No one has ever discovered me recently,” she rolls her eyes. “I haven’t even been suspected in _decades._ ”

“Still, others have told your tales. Our way of life is simple, Regina. To protect us. The meal should be chosen at random, whoever is safest when the hunger strikes. Hunt far from where you live. Hide in plain sight. There’s nothing more conspicuous than a newcomer.”

“Says the newcomer from New Orleans,” she bites back.

“Of course you must strike up a new town every few decades,” he gives. “That is different than living as a wandering vagrant like yourself. The world is changing. News spreads fast now, and it will soon spread faster. A pretty young girl coming to town is already something to talk about, and what happens when towns compare your arrival with mysterious deaths and disappearance?”

“Why don’t you let me handle that?” she asks. “I’ve managed quite fine without you.”

“My dear, I worry for you, but also for our kind. If you expose the fact we exist to humans, and that knowledge becomes well known… well, you know they will discover a way to harm us.”

“Promise?” she snarls back.

There is a way for humans to harm them, but Waryn Gold has never told her what it is. He knows if she ever were to find out she’d beg a human to kill her. She knows it is not a crucifix, or a stake to the heart, silver, or sunlight, or almost any of the myths she has heard. But there is a way.

Of this she is certain.

“Of course in the course of discovering a cure, _so_ many will die. Innocents. I’d make sure if it. Children. Babies. That beautiful boy you just visited, I’d make sure he was one of them.”

“You are a loathsome, disgusting creature,” she bites back. “You so much as harm a hair on the heads of anyone in this town and I swear to God I will share the secret of what we are to everyone.” She observes him, she can smell the faint hint of fear on him. “And that worries you, doesn’t it? You’re weakening, aren’t you?”

“Weakening?” he laughs. “If you believe that, please feel free to fight me.”

“You know Graham Humbert taught me a few things,” she drawls.

Graham was the only vampire she ever allowed herself to get close to.

“He wouldn’t tell you how to die,” Waryn quips back with a smile.

“No, he wouldn’t. But he did tell me there is a code. And I learned that code inside and out. I know that once a vampire has taken residence another cannot come in and make a kill of someone known to the resident. it draws attention to the vampire living amongst them.”

“That rule was created for those who take up residence, not live in squalor.”

“It’s a rule nonetheless, Waryn. One I follow. In fact, I’ve always followed our code, as much as I may hate what I am and shy away from the suggested living norms. You, however, cannot say the same. And I do wonder what the council would think of that.”

“Are you threatening me, Ms. Mills?” he asks, almost amused and interested, not the least bit frightened.

It aggravates her.

“I’m offering you a warning. Leave us here, or I will go to the council and tell them that you willingly let your creation go into bloodlust, that you started a fire so the entire town would be outside of their residences when I was incapacitated, that you let me kill hundreds, drawing attention to our kind. That you _joined_ me in the feast.”

“You talk a big game, little one,” Waryn smiles. “Yet I know you are every bit the meek girl I once knew. Don’t say things you don’t intend on doing less do not even know _how_ to do. It’s unbecoming. And entirely unnecessary since I do not plan on staying. I only came to warn you, my darling. Your method of only killing the bad ones will be noticed and will spread quickly now particularly in a place so close to London. In fact, the man you have just made into your meal, this Greg Mendell? He is no unimportant man. They will investigate. Be careful. If you need me, I am betting you will know where to look, just as I still knew how to find you.”

He turns into a bat, flying away into the moonlight.

He’s a terrible maker, that is absolutely patently true. He hasn’t told her anything of her kind, of how to find them and meet with them. He hasn’t told her the rules or codes to live by beyond by his own suggestions, spouted off-hand at the randomness of times.

She knows why, of course. He wanted her to rely on him entirely, of course, and she refused to live like an eager puppy begging for scraps of information, so she simply left his side.

Early on she made some terrible errors, ones that could have gotten her caught. But Graham was there to stop her. And when she told him to just kill her if her methods offended him, he was there to tell her there are fates far worse than death.

The council has ways of dealing with vampires who have a death wish, and it does _not_ involve death.

She’s not sure why. Graham wouldn’t tell her because it’s forbidden to tell a wayward vampire such as herself.

The suicide and murder of their kind are forbidden as well, though she doesn’t know why that is, either.

What she does know is she has been identified as a suicidal, a self-destructive vampire who hates her life, and that is problematic to her kind. Graham helped just enough to get her by, he felt for her, she saw a glimmer of humanity in him, but in the end, he left her, telling her he could teach her no more, that she was too different and dangerous for their kind. He told her that she should seek him out one day if she ever comes to embrace her new life as he has his.

She won’t do that. Thus, the council won’t see her yet alone make themselves known to her. They don’t associate with wayward vampires, won’t approach or interact, barely considers her one of their kind. And that’s fine with her. She would rather not share a species with them.

Of course not having access to the council means she can’t report Gold, and that is problematic.

There’s so much energy and anger fueling her that she needs to release it. She runs at full speed just for a second, hoping no one can see as she feels the wind against her. She slows just as far as she starts, reaching a clearing in the wooded path that leads to the more populated town.

And then she walks as normal until she’s on the outskirts of turn and just sprints back to her old village.

Running at this rate for too long is dangerous. It’s not outright unallowed, but it’s frowned upon. Most would use their power to turn into a bat, of course. She can fly faster than she can run.

But she doesn’t like transforming much. It makes her feel empty, emotionless. She feels more jaded for days after she transforms. She feels less guilt, too. She clings to her self loathing. She doesn’t welcome a break from it.

Plus now she is feeling… more pleasant emotions. Human ones. Centered around Robin and his son (if any harm comes to him she will find a way to kill Waryn Gold, of that she vows).

She likes the feeling, the human, lightheaded dizziness that swells inside her when she thinks of him. That will disappear in time, but she doesn’t want it to go away just yet. And she’d rather not lose the feeling while she has it.

So Regina runs instead of flies, careful to stay in the dark shadows in the night.

She runs for hours, runs across streams, thanking the god for her good boots until she reaches the old farmhouse she had lived in for years.

She misses this place. It was a remote little village, far from any busy city. It was home to her for quite some time. The people here loved her, what they knew of her anyway.

But she doesn’t belong here anymore. The evil has been cut out of the area. They have no more use for her, and she no more use for them.

Still, the friendly farmer who let her work the land will undoubtedly worry about her. And she will worry about him. She’s helped him more than she ever let him know.

Perhaps she will come back sometimes to help.

He was good to her.

She grabs the rest of her belongings — two large trunks of clothing with money and jewels hidden in the case, along with another bag of money she’s buried — and races back.

It’s dark and late enough that she’s able to get back to the village without being seen. Then she must be careful, making one trip with the trunk and then another for the second, so anyone who spots her won’t see a small woman carrying twice her body weight and become suspicious.

She holds her breath as she enters the bed and breakfast that is now her home, carrying the first trunk in her arms.

She’s never lived in such a place. She didn’t know if she must be invited each time if the common entrance is recognized as the home of another.

It appears, however, that whatever protection was created to keep her out of homes does not extend to common places.

She’s never tried to enter an apartment building, but… this is good to know.

She is dead silent as she drifts up the stairs and into her room.

The cloud of exhaustion hits her, reminding her that she is safe here, that she can rest.

She doesn’t think she should, not with Waryn Gold around. And how did he find her? He should not have been able to do so after severing their ties.

Still, her body disagrees, and despite her desire to think this through, she’s asleep nearly the moment her head hits the pillow.

She’s not even able to change into her night clothes.

.::.

Robin has been pacing in the dark for the last hour.

Regina had asked him not to follow her, but he could not resist doing so anyway.

She insisted she could take care of herself. And oh, how right she had been.

A creature had swooped down from a tree and took the shape of a man and Regina stayed perfectly calm. In fact, she even threatened the beast until he left.

He did not hear everything they said, he did hear that creature speak of being her father, of making monsters.

And he heard them speak of murder. It’s so implausible and yet he heard it so clearly. He witnessed them speaking of Regina killing Greg Mendell. Of her _eating_ him.

Robin shivers at the thought.

He should be running and grabbing Roland, packing him up and fleeing into the night. But he’s not, at all.

He should be terrified of Regina. She’s a murderer. She’s… she may be not human at all (no, that can’t be right, they must be speaking in code, he must have been hallucinating — dear god, what has happened?)

He knew there was some dark secret she was keeping. He could read it on her as if she was ashamed of something.

He never would have guessed she killed or caused physical harm to anyone _,_ but he knew she carried a weight on her shoulders.

Then he remembers Regina asking for entrance at his home and at Granny’s. He thinks back to his youth, of his friends telling stories of vampires not being able to enter homes without permission.

No, it couldn’t be.

That would be absurd. Regina can walk in daylight unrestricted. She did not shrink from the cross on Roland’s chest, nor did she hide from the garlic used to flavor their dinner.

She’s not a vampire. Such things just don’t exist.

Furthermore, Regina has had so many opportunities to kill him and his entire family, and she didn’t. A vampire would have seized the opportunity, would she not? Especially during the various times where Robin and she have been alone, removed from everyone.

Regina has never even looked at him in a dangerous way.

_Slaughtering the enemies of your friends?_

The voice of Regina’s companion echoes in his brain.

He heard that part so clear. Did Regina somehow kill Greg Mendell after they shared those stories about?

As much as Robin has wished death for Greg, this wouldn’t be the resolution he’d asked for. He wanted to see the man meet justice, not an untimely end.

No, this is nonsense. Regina and the man must have been speaking in code, in some riddles he didn’t decipher. She’s not a monster, she doesn’t eat people. Robin has hallucinated all of this, the fear of losing Roland a few days ago combined with these new terrifying feelings of… something strong for the beautiful young woman in his life, the inability to sleep… all mixed together in a toxic cocktail that has him seeing and hearing things.

That must be it.

It was so dark, most of what he saw was shadows. And their voices were low, who is to say he heard them right after all?

By the time he enters the cottage, he’s almost convinced himself that everything he heard was the result of his overtures, overactive imagination.

Still, he secures every window and makes sure Roland is far away from the nearest one, pushing the bed far away from it.

And then Robin drinks as much whiskey as he can to stop his mind from racing.

Sleep claims him, thank god. And when he wakes, it’s even easier to believe that he imagined everything in some weird liquor-soaked dream.

By the time he says goodbye to his son, he is convinced that the whiskey alone had been responsible for his memory of men turning into bats, of threats and talk of cannibalism.

.::.

Robin starts his day at August Booth’s furniture store. The shop is growing, August is starting to generate some prestige amongst the wealthy, something that doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest. August has a special skill, a keen eye and steady hand, the moment he saw his work he knew the man would be a success. He just doesn’t have much of a head for the business end of things. That is where Robin comes in handy.

It is good he’s in today because a proper looking man enters the shop wearing a waistcoat and a cap that screams _wealth_. August stands up immediately, looking very out of place and immediately grateful when Robin comes out of the back room and approaches the gentleman.

Robin knows how to talk to these people, of course.

“Are you the owner of this shop?” The man demands, holding his hand out.

“I am one of the hired help in this establishment,” Robin answers confidently. “I handle sales and commissions.”

“Ah. My name is Albus Brandy. I come to you on behalf of Lord Norwood. It seems Lady Norwood has admired the bedroom set you designed for Lady Sitwell. She would like to employ your services for her new nursery.”

“Congratulations are in order, it appears,” Robin answers.

“Yes, the midwife says it will be a boy. Mr. and Mrs. Norwood are overjoyed,” Brandy replies with a smile. “Now, I’ve been instructed to bring Mr. Booth back to the Norwood estate, so he can assess the space itself and make recommendations. Time is of the utmost importance since everything must be done well in advance of the lad’s birth. Can he accompany me now?”

August looks frazzled, to say the least.

“Excuse me one moment while I confer with my boss,” Robin says calmly. “We have some appointments I must assure him I can handle on my own before he can agree to this.”

“Of course,” Mr. Brandy says with a smile.

Robin walks August into the back room and closes the door.

“You can do this,” Robin assures. “I’ll take care of the place while you go to the estate.”

“Come with me,” August says, looking nervous. “You always come with me to these meetings. I’m not… one of them. Not like you.”

“I’m not one of them anymore,” Robin reminds.

He left that life, or rather, he was kicked out of it, forcefully, after seemingly having the world at his fingertips.

Robin can honestly say he doesn’t miss his old, privileged life much, however. The unlimited access to food and his father’s cook, yes. But not much else.

“You know what I mean,” August continues. “You know these people. They were raised like you. I don’t know them at all. I can’t speak to them as you can, I don’t know any of the formalities in high society. You’ve tried but it all escapes me when you’re not around to remind me what to say or what fork to use.”

Robin laughs. “There won’t be a meal here. It will be easy. It’s just a meeting. And I cannot come with you this time. You have other appointments and I must be in at lunch to check on Roland. Listen, they already like your work. They think of you as an artist. Play up the art. Talk about the wood, talk about your ideas. Don’t worry about fitting in. You’re an artist. You can stand out. Just tell them the truth and share your vision, okay?”

August takes a deep breath in and nods. “I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

Robin pats him on the back and wishes him well.

He prays for the man to have the confidence he certainly deserves.

He returns to his ledgers, to fixing the books for August, when the door rings again.

“August, I told you, you can do this—”

“It’s not August, Locksley,” says a sinister voice Robin knows all too well.

Robin clenches his teeth and walks rigidly out of the backroom preparing himself for anything.

“Felix.”

“What the _fuck_ did you to do him?” The man asks, lounging at Robin.

“What, I — who are you talking about?” Robin asks, too stunned to truly process what is happening.

Felix’s friends pulls him back, muttering calming words as he continues to try to get to Robin.

“I know it was you, I know it was you, you bastard! You were at the tavern that night! And he hasn’t been seen since he stepped out that night!”

“What?” Robin asks, “Who are you even talking—”

“Don’t play stupid. You have him somewhere, don’t you? Greg Mendell? I swear if you did anything to him—”

Robin’s heart stops, and suddenly, his “dream” from last night floods back, playing in his mind.

Oh fuck.

“Have you seen Mr. Mendell?” A short stocky man asks, holding back Felix. “Felix was convinced you would know.”

“I haven’t. But if what he is saying is true, it’s only been two days,” Robin says, swallowing his fear. “Perhaps wanted a break from you all.”

“He never leaves without telling us where he is going!” Felix snarls. “You bastard, I know you did something!”

“Come on, Felix, Greg got drunk not four months ago and wandered off for half a week,” the older man says, trying to calm him. “Mr. Locksley doesn’t know what happened, so I believe if we just—”

“He’s lying!” the man growls, pointing his finger at Robin, spitting in the air at him while the man holds him back. “I know it was you, you piece of shit! Either you or that bitch Mrs. Lucas! We heard about the bad blood between you all. You have no idea the trouble you’ve stepped in, Robin Locksley. If any harm comes to him—”

“If he was last found at the tavern two nights ago, several witnesses, including yourself, can attest to the fact I was there the whole time and never left, even for a moment, until news came that my son was ill. Then I left. An entire tavern witnessed that and several witnessed me returning home. How could I have caused him harm on that night?”

“He’s right. Felix, I told you, this time it just doesn’t—”

Felix it seems has had enough, walking out of the store, his hands batting away his associate's words, trying to reason with him.

The moment they round the corner, Robin exhales deeply against the back wall and permits himself to have a panic attack.

The very day after a vivid dream of Regina discussing killing Greg Mendell, he hears word of the man going missing.

It has to be a coincidence, doesn’t it?

.::.

She knows Waryn Gold wasn’t lying when the men enter the apothecary asking about a missing man. Apparently, her meal is connected and will be missed.

This is an unfortunate time for him to be telling the truth.

“If you remember anything,” he says to Walter Merlin, “Please let the police know or us. If there is foul play we’ll all have an interest in bringing a dangerous man to justice, do we not?”

Walter nods and sees them out before wandering back behind the counter.

“This place looks better already,” Me. Merlin notes with a smile.

“A little organization goes a long way,” she responds as she continues her inventory count for the day. “So, what were those men asking about?”

“They believe someone caused harm to one of the most evil men in town.”

His voice is incredibly smooth and matter-of-fact as the words come out. There is a conviction in his tone she didn’t see coming.

“They want our help in finding him. Frankly, I’d like to thank the hell of whoever took us out of his hair, even if it’s only for a few days.”

She snickers.

“Evil exists,” Water Merlin says hauntingly, not allowing this conversation to shift into levity. “I believe in monsters, you may hear that from others who mock me. But I don’t just fear the monsters, but the people capable of doing monstrous things.”

“You believe in monsters?” she asks curiously.

What monsters have he seen, she wonders?

The man sighs and nods. “Men don’t believe me, say I am just a drunk. But I was a sober man when it took my wife… it doesn’t matter. There are monsters in this world, and there are people who have the soul of a monster within them. The man who is missing now, the man they are looking for? His name is Greg Mendell and he is no different than any beast causing a nuisance in the town. If you come across him… just promise me you’ll stay away. He’s dangerous, Regina. And you’re a pretty young unmarried woman who is new to town, and—“

“I’m very careful,” she assures. “But I’ll be sure to stay far away from him.

Mr. Merlin is satisfied with her vow and permits the conversation to shift into something less serious.

Though she still sees the fear in his eyes, as if he’s stuck in memory he can’t wash out of his head.

She begs him to get some food in his stomach, even a light meal. Because he clearly missed breakfast leaving only liquor in his system.

She knows he will swallow anything he eats down with a pint of whiskey, but it is better than nothing.

She settles herself in the corner while he’s gone, pouring over the poorly neglected ledger, intent on saving this poor man's livelihood, because god knows something terrible has happened to him and his luck ought to change.

.::.

By mid-day, Robin cannot get Regina out of his mind. She is stuck on a loop, playing over and over, images of the soft, small woman he’s known, the way she’s lovingly handled his son, how she warned Robin away from the police, the woman who looked so frail and helpless while she sleeps.

But there are also the images of her in the shadows talking to some wild creature, and his imagination making her into some sort of animal that rips flesh and tears bodies apart

This is ridiculous. She’s nothing like the monster he’s imagining. Even his memory of her from his dream, in the shadows, she looked so frail and vulnerable.

He has to see her, has to reconcile these images, these contradictions in his head.

His body drags him to the apothecary before his mind can protest.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Locksley,” she greets the moment he opens the door.

Good god, she’s so beautiful, hypnotizingly so. She’s in a new dress, nothing too elegant, but the fabric is a sapphire blue. Something about the contrast of it and her skin, her shining dark eyes and the loose curls around her face has brought out her beauty even more, despite him being quite sure that wasn’t possible.

Lord, he has it bad for her.

“I can assure you I am safe and sound, just as I said I would be when we said our goodbyes last night.” She’s smiling at him playfully and it takes him a second to catch her joke. Of course, that’s right, they had talked about this, about his desire to check on her and her assurance she would be safe.

She doesn’t fear anything, he realizes, and that may not be overconfidence and nativity. It may be just a recognition of her power.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, walking over to him, her face the picture of concern. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The man we talked about at the tavern, Greg Mendell? He’s gone missing. Missing since the night we last saw him.”

“They talked to Mr. Merlin already. I’m aware,” she says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Why does this worry you so? From the way you talked about him, I gathered you two were far from friends.”

That’s an understatement.

“We are not friends,” Robin says, “He’s a vile man. I hate him. But he was considered untouchable due to all his connections. Whoever killed him will suffer the same fate. I worry for his murderer, Regina.”

He swears he hears her snort in laughter fairly before she schools her features to concern. “Is he dead, then? I only heard he was missing.”

“He is only missing … as of now,” Robin admits, his breath caught. “But I…”

He can’t finish. The dream seems like foreshadowing. He doesn’t believe in fortune tellers, of those who get warnings of what is to come. But dreaming of Greg the night before he died?

That chills him.

“Perhaps he owed his men money,” Regina muses, “or found a new opportunity and didn’t want to share with anyone. Men like him aren’t exactly honest and responsible are they?”

“No,” Robin breathes a sigh of relief. This is quite logical. Greg is off on some selfish quest, he’s not dead.

Whatever he thought he saw last night doesn’t mean anything. Not at all.

“Walter keeps a pint of whiskey in his desk. If you’d like a glass, I doubt he will miss it. I meant to start watering it down anyway.” She smiles at him sweetly, raising her eyebrow in question.

“No, no, that’s fine, I just…” Robin bites his lip. He is fascinated by her, fascinated and confused and desperate for more time together. He wants to know her, wants to chase these darkened worries away with new memories of her.

So he reaches out for more time.

“Will you have supper with us after your day is over?”

She truly looks conflicted, eyebrows raising in regret when she says, “I’m paying for room and board at Granny’s, I don’t really need—“

“I know. Please, allow me your company. It would help more than any glass of whiskey. And besides, I can guarantee you’ll have a better meal with me.”

Regina appears to contemplate and then nods.

He should feel apprehensive at the thought of having her on his home, but something tells him he’s safe with her. Perhaps safer the closer he is to her.

Regardless of what he’s heard he feels a connection and his instinct says she’s a good woman who will keep his family safe. He’s gotten by profit since he’s learned to trust those instincts, and he sees no reason to stop trusting them.

.::.

It’s evening and they’ve been reminiscing about the day, Regina telling him about the changes to the apothecary — good ones — and some of the illnesses in the town they’ve sought to cure.

Her days are far more entertaining than his, or at least, they have been. Until his next little heist.

She always asks about his day.  This time is no exception.

“August has secured a very lucrative job to furnish a nursery and a sitting parlor,” Robin smiles, reminiscing about August’s pride when he told him. “While he works I’m handling the shop for him. His ideas for those rooms are… brilliant. You should see his plans.

She tilts her head and stares at him, her eyes narrowed.

“You know, Mr. Locksley,” Regina murmurs as they finish their meal and Roland goes to bed. “we’ve been speaking for over a week now, yet I still do not know exactly what you do and how you came to do it.”

It’s odd that she’s asked more about him first because Robin is ever more intrigued by her.

It is partly her beauty, he knows that. She’s stunning, she turns the heads of most men she walks past. He noticed her beauty at first, but now that he’s gotten to know her more he’s even more attracted. She is kind-hearted to his son, she is soft and warm with Roland but also with him. When Robin compliments her, she smiles and blushes prettily. He knows she’s far from innocent. She isn’t some blood eating creature, either, of course. But she has a side to her, a hardened, survival side that comes up on sparks and glimmers when strange men approach her. She obviously can care for herself and he thinks she may have learned how by suffering through a traumatic event.

Regardless of her past or whatever demons may haunt her, Robin is certain that there isn’t a more beautiful woman, inside and out, in all of England.

He's fallen for her, and he's not quite sure what she thinks of him.  Sometimes, he might read too much into the way she touches him, leans into him, the way she smiles and blushes when he looks at her just that way.   He's never really met someone like her.

They do not speak of each other’s past. Not yet, anyway. Robin ignores the topic entirely, partly because he is a bit scared to know the answer. Until now she’s avoided asking any questions of his past or his occupation. One would think this would leave them with very little to discuss, but it is not so.

They discuss the behavior of children and politicians, share literature and childhood memories. She speaks of America, he of his area of England.

But nothing of who they were, of how she came to move to England, of how he came to live here.

She never inquired, but from what he’s shared she must know he came from a wealthy family.

Regina must come from a relatively wealthy family herself, enough to have a servant, enough to be educated.

Perhaps she ran away from the life of luxury. Or perhaps she was kicked out of it, like him. There’s something familiar he’s grasping to, something that draws him in, wants him to set down roots with this woman, to know every single detail about her, have her confess all her sins, lay it all in front of him so he can tell her none of it matters, that he thinks just as highly of her as he ever did.

And now that she’s asking a bit more about his life, he wonders if he will have the opportunity to prove she can trust him, that they can confide in one another.

“Well, as you know I work for a few merchants in town,” Robin answers her question with a smile.

“Yes, and from the look of your clothes, you aren’t repairing roofs or sweeping up dirt,” she notes.

Robin laughs. “No, I manage the books for a few of the merchants in town. I also negotiate deals for them when the opportunity arises and they want someone who can act a bit sophisticated. It’s not much, just payment for some odd work every month, but it keeps me busy. Most of my income comes from an investment of mine.”

“An investment?” Regina asks, tilting her head.

“I am a partial owner in Mr. Booth’s business,” he explains. “And his business is growing and doing quite well.”

“How did you find yourself to be an investor?” Regina asks curiously. “Don’t investors need… capital to invest first?”

He bites his lip. So they are doing this then.

He should be humiliated to share this story but instead, he’s just… quite excited to share.

“You’d like to hear my full story then?”

Regina shrugs. “We’ve known each other long enough, I think.”

“My father is a baronet,” Robin explains. “I know you’ve lived in America for some time. Do you know what that is?”

“Part of the highest class system, but not particularly high ranked,” Regina says softly.

“Lowest ranked,” Robin grits. “My whole life, my father was painfully aware of this fact. We had so much, yet he could only look at those who had more, who was more respected because of their birthright. His dream was for me or my brother James to marry the daughter of an Earl, or someone high enough to give our name some prestige. My father was obsessed with looking up and seeing everyone who looked down on him. And I shared his obsession, at one point.”

Robin sighs. He doesn’t talk about this anymore, and it feels good to share it with someone he knows won’t judge or use the information against him. After all, he suspects she has worse secrets, doesn’t she?

“I learned how to charm women, how to draw in a fair amount of potential brides. My father was pleased. I was good at it. Too good, in fact.”

He grimaces. This isn’t an easy memory. “There was talk of arranging my marriage when I was still in school.”

“And you didn’t like your match,” Regina surmises.

“No, I liked her well enough,” Robin admits. “It’s just, I, err, I didn’t want to be married yet. Beatrice was lovely, but she demanded loyalty. The entire reason she was looking to marry me, someone beneath her, was that she thought she loved me. She thought I loved her. I was a young man and knew I would have to act the part. But I… I wanted the freedom of a single man first.”

“You wanted to sleep around,” Regina says with an amused smile.

Robin feels his ears burn. “Yes. Exactly.”

“And you didn’t think you could easily do that while married to her? Most married men of stature never seem to have that problem.”

“No, the reason I could even marry her was that Beatrice was difficult. She wasn’t like women are supposed to be in society. Men of her class shirked away from her. She would have publicized my indiscretions and brought shame to my family— she would have done that to any husband and made no qualms saying so. She was strong-willed. But she was also the daughter of an Earl, and that, well, it would be quite a good match for me.”

“Ah,” Regina nods, not a bit of judgment in her voice.

“I’ve not told this to anyone save for Marian and her father before he passed. You will not think kindly of me.”

Regina laughs. “ I wouldn’t judge you, Robin. I am in no place to judge. Trust me.”

He nods. “Well, I was not kind to Beatrice. I exploited her feelings for me — I knew, I knew she liked me the second we met. So I used that to get what my father and I wanted. Her family was well-respected and we would become aligned with them if I could just get her to fall in love with me. So I wrote her poems and confessed my undying love to her because I knew she wanted a love match. It worked. She fell for me deeply. Confessed all her fears and passions to me, told me everything she desired and loathed. It worked and she insisted that she would never marry anyone unless it was me. I should have been overjoyed, but all I felt was trapped.”

“What did you do?” Regina asks, genuinely curious.

“I begged my father to let me attend university first. University is for unmarried men only, of course, and she and I would have to put off the marriage for a few years. I’d be away at school for a few years with plenty of time to live wild and free, and then when I graduated I would settle down and be a good husband to her. It was, I thought, a perfect plan.”

“It sounds like it,” Regina notes.

“It was hell convincing my father, but he knew a few people in our class who had sent their sons to university, and there was a growing prestige to it. So he sent me to Eton, where I’d learn about classical literature and how to speak ancient dead languages no one ever uses and all that crap.”

“The classics have their place,” Regina notes.

“Yes. They do. And I enjoyed learning about them. But I started to become interested in things outside literature, in politics, in our society. We had a professor who once spoke of the plight of the poor and I remember thinking that I’d never spoken to someone who was even less than middle class, save for my servants. We simply did not associate with the poor. We didn’t even see them.”

Regina is looking like she’s struggling to avoid rolling her eyes and that’s fine, he gets it.

“One day a few men from class were going down into London. Just to go to the opera house. A friend knew the conductor and afterwards, we got to speak to some musicians who invited us to a pub. And… there was this woman there being arrested, being dragged out from the inn. The officer informed us she was a prostitute and she was being arrested from allegedly stealing from a man of class.”

Robin takes a sip of his drink and lets the memory wash over him. “I can still see the woman, smelling faintly of roses, her hair had been styled but was coming undone from whatever ornate braiding she had done. Her dress was ripped by one the officers, but even torn, it wasn’t particularly showy, not at all. She didn’t look like…”

“She didn’t look like the stories of London prostitutes you had heard,” Regina guesses.

“Yes. She was rather pretty and clean. And thin, very thin. And she cried out for her child, begging someone to take care of her, to take care of Genevieve. I remember the name, Genevieve, as she screamed it over and over. My friend turned to me and said ‘Doesn’t she know there are workhouses for her daughter to live? Why is she so upset?’ It was then I knew that I was seeing things far differently from my classmates.”

Regina purses her lips, trying to conceal a frown. She says nothing in words but places her hand on his forearm, as she does sometimes when conversations become a bit more... intimate.

“I went to bail the woman out after hours that night. Of course, it would have caused quite a scandal, so I paid a woman to do it for me.” Robin shrinks at the memory, then smiles sheepishly. “Once she was out, I asked her if her daughter was all right. And then she told me that her friends had promised to care for her. That they take care of one another. That they even promised to bail her out in time, too. I walked her back to her home and she told me how becoming a prostitute, with all its risk of disease and being beaten by men, is far better than any occupation available to her.”

Regina is stroking his hand now, her fingers nimbly scratching up his palms up to his wrist and forearm, then down again, making him shiver.

God, if Regina knew what she did to him, what lustful thoughts he has of her, she’d probably remove her touch immediately.

“She was a gifted seamstress, apparently, but the hours were long and the pay little. Prostitution was truly a saving grace to her. This life of hers was better than anything she could imagine. She spoke so freely of it to me, so honestly. And then I realized my entire life had been focused on the terrible injustice my family had suffered from our poor social standing, and I was blind to the struggles of the many beneath me. This woman was telling me how prostitution practically saved her life, and the life of her child too. It shouldn’t have to be that way. It stuck with me. But hers was only one story. There were so many more I found later when I…. continued to sneak into London, dressed as a commoner, soaking in the life around me.”

He was slumming it. The practice is usually shunned, especially by the poor who find it distasteful that the wealthy would be interested in playing a tourist in their miserable life. But Regina, to her credit, doesn’t judge him at all.

“It must have been an eye-opening experience,” Regina observes. “Quite a shock. We think of servants of being the poor. Yet servants of the wealthy are in a much better position than the urban poor.”

“Yes, exactly,” Robin agrees. “All of this changed me. I no longer felt a part of society. I didn’t see the point in most of the things we spent far too much time on. I was embarrassed that I had spent so long feeling sorry for myself for being the son of a baronet. I was ashamed my father was so out of touch. I was ashamed of what I had done to Beatrice to secure higher status and respect. So I told her, quite bluntly, that I never loved her and had only used her because my family sought her dowry and her family’s good reputation.”

Regina’s mouth nearly falls open.

“That didn’t go over well, I assume?”

Robin chuckles and shakes his head.

“Another woman would have wanted to hide the embarrassment, but not Beatrice. Truly, I liked her, we weren’t in love, but she was headstrong, brave and honest. And most of all, she did not suffer injustice quietly. She told her father, told everyone. My father renounced me immediately, saying he had been unaware I’d do something so deceitful. James, my brother, was forced to do the same so he could suffer no consequences. I was disinherited and disowned. My family believed that if I were cut out of the family, they could still salvage what was left of their reputation. I believe it did help, I heard James married the daughter of a baron, at least.”

“And you were left penniless?” Regina asks.

“Not exactly. I was given a moderate sum of money to go quietly. But I had no idea what to do or where to go. I was entirely unprepared for life outside of my own estate. I had been fixed on drinking myself to death before Marian turned me around. She showed me my life was worth living, that I had skills, that I still had privilege, even without a title or a royal family. I had my education, and a sum of money most would never make in their lives. See, I didn’t see it that way. I was still in my sad little bubble. But, in any case, I learned a few trades — bartending didn’t quite work, but I was a decent clerk, mathematics had always been a strong suit of mine. And sales, I am, to this day, rather good and selling and negotiating. And I found a few talented people and invested in their craft. Mr. Booth was one of them. I saw him trying to sell a home-made chest on the street. I recognized the skill immediately and knew the wealthy would love his designs. So I invested in him, helped him start up shop. It’s paid off rather well, I must say. He has a few men working on his designed underneath him and a patent for a cabinet design with a special hinge opening.”

“So you spend your days helping merchants. And you spend your nights stealing for the poor,” Regina surmises.

“Yes. Both for necessity and pleasure. There’s something very satisfying about robbing from the wealthy and corrupt.” He smiles unapologetically. He feels no guilt or shame for his theft.

“You don’t mind the risk?” Regina asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Well…” Robin starts. “There is a risk. But I find I love a little thrill in life.” Robin doesn’t mention that if he gets caught his identity will be discovered, and his father would promptly bribe him out of prison to save his reputation. He suspects Regina might know that, but she is probably talking about the risk of death he also faces.

She smiles knowingly at him. “Makes sense,” she tells him.

“So,” Robin says. “You know my sordid past. Have I completely scared you off?”

“Not in the least,” Regina says, raising a glass of wine to her lips. “You’re practically a saint. Especially when compared to me.”

“I don’t mean to push,” Robin starts, “but I do wonder if you wanted to share your story with me? I feel I know you so well at times, and at others, not at all.”

Regina bites her lip and sets down her glass of wine. “I understand what you mean. And yes, I agree that I’ve remained somewhat elusive. But my story is… complicated.”

A loud knock on the door interrupts her.

Of all the rotten luck.

Robin looks at the clock, confused by a guest at such a late hour.

“Who is there?” he asks on the other side.

“John,” says the voice, a bit frantic. “There’s an important matter I must discuss with you.”

When Robin lets John in, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Good, Regina, you’re here. You may need to testify as a witness for us.”

“What?” Regina asks.

“Greg Mendell. His body was found. Dead. The body washed up river wearing the clothes he wore that night we all met at the tavern.”

Robin swallows heavily and looks at Regina. News of Greg Mendell going missing did not bother her in the slightest. But news of his body being found has bothered her, he can see it in her tight expression, the way her skin pales.

“How was he killed?” Robin asks.

“It’s unclear. A coroner is coming to investigate. There are small all over the body, but we suspect those occurred after death. The only thing we can say for sure is there is a small animal bite on his neck.”

His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack.

He sees black dots behind his eyes, struggling to hear anything John says

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream and he knows what she is.

And judging from the way Regina looks at him, she knows he’s figured it out.


	6. Possessed

Regina's head is spinning.

It’s not the news that Gregg has died, of course, but the news his body was _found_. She made sure that the body was weighted and dumped into the middle of the river.

There’s no way it should have been found, at least not this fast.

Waryn Gold.

Fuck, he did this. She doesn’t know what he wants but he’s fixing to drive her right out of town.

And she won’t do it.

She’s determined to not go anywhere until John mentions the animal bite and Robin looks at her as if he _knows._

It’s chilling, that terrifying stare.

How can he know?

Is she reading into things?

“There will be officers here come morning,” John informs them. “Felix has been shouting that it was us—”

“I know,” Robin nods, looking thoroughly distracted. “I don’t intend to hide from the inevitable questions. We were completely under the eyes of many that night. If that was when he was abducted, we are safe.”

“Unless they say we did it when we left and staged the part about Roland being sick,” John warns. “That’s why I…” he looks at her and tips his hat. “I’m sorry, milady, I just feel if you were to speak on this, say that you provided medical services, it could clear anything up before an investigation started.”

“Do you think many will believe the word of a prostitute?” she asks. John’s mouth goes agape, and Regina is honestly perplexed by his reaction. “The truth of what I am doesn’t matter, and surely you’ve heard the rumors. I live alone above a tavern, I travel to men’s houses unaccompanied, I drink at pubs… it’s a fair guess, I don’t exactly fit any other mold.”

“I’ve not heard that rumor,” John coughs.

Regina raises an eyebrow. “You know what is assumed. And to be clear, I don’t mind. I’ve been accused of and mistaken for far worse. In any case, I’m happy to provide my account of the evening, but perhaps the maid who handled Roland would be more believable.”

“Of course, of course,” Robin says, rubbing his head. “She’s… she will be believed. We'll be fine, John.”

“They take every opportunity they can to go after us,” John points out.

“I know,” Robin nods. “I get it, but it just so happened on this night we had a lot of witnesses to us being far away so we will be fine.”

He rushes the words out, and Regina can swear he’s sweating, his skin growing deathly pale.

“You don’t look so good, Robin,” John says. “Are you sure you have no fear of being falsely accused of this?”

“I have no fear of that,” he answers, his hand shaking as he pours whiskey into a glass. “However there is, it appears, a murderer in our town or some sort of animal, obviously this concerns me as a father.”

“Of course,” John stares. “We must be more careful with the women and children being out.”

John looks at Regina. “Milady, it’s dangerous out there. You should not be around town without an escort. I know you value your independence but it’s several miles in darkness and you shouldn’t be—”

“And Greg Mendell was a rather strong looking man and was easily overpowered himself,” Regina notes. “Who's to say you could protect me from whatever comes? I appreciate your help, but I will be fine. I can hide and run from danger if it approaches. I don’t need an escort to brave danger for me.”

John shakes his head. “Robin, I implore you—”

“She’s got it,” Robin says, swallowing a generous amount of liquor. “Have you spoken to Will and Ana? They should be prepared for this.”

“I’m on my way to tell them,” John assures. “He may have things to hide.”

“As do I,” Robin says with a smile. “Go, tell Will. We will wait for the authorities.

John starts to leave, paying to look at Regina.

“The lady—”

“Will be just fine. Thank you, John,” Regina answers for herself.

John leaves, muttering something about stubbornness and pride one day being the death of her.

The moment he closes the door Robin stares at her, his eyes wide, jaw slacked.

Perhaps fear but it seems more like… disbelief.

And she can’t for the life of her understand why he suspects anything of her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks innocently.

Robin is not a superstitious man. She can get him to believe his suspicions are absurd in little time.

She watches Robin swallow heavily.

“A few nights back you were insistent on walking home alone and I was… worried. I followed you, I know that’s terrible of me, but it was to cause you no harm. It was only to ensure your safety.”

She’s walked often from his home, but only one time had she encountered Waryn Gold.

“How-how long ago?”

“I saw the man that called you 'daughter',” he says slowly. “But it wasn’t a man, was it?”

“I think the dark must be playing tricks on you,” Regina says quickly. “Or perhaps the drink and the lateness of the hour—”

“I thought that too, _believe_ me, I wish I still could.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of? Of meeting my father in the late of the night?”

“I think you know,” he says with a small sigh.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Regina answers, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.

“Fine. I’ll tell you what I think. But first, let me tell you why. You never enter anyone’s home without a formal invitation to enter,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I like to be polite,” she says, and she can hear the weakness dripping off her tone as she moves away from Robin.

“You stepped out that night Mendell went missing and came back, your skin a totally different color, practically glowing, hair shining as if you had washed it in diamonds.”

“I… freshened up after using the washroom,” she tries to explain, backing away as he takes tentative steps towards her.

“Greg met his death the same night we told you what a horrible person he was,” Robin goes on.

“Perhaps a bar patron overheard you,” Regina tries, controlling her shaking. “A vigilante could have seen him as a problem worth ridding the world of.”

“You’ve come here alone, you won’t tell me how or why, you can see things in the dark I cannot, though you pretend not to.”

“I have good eyesight,” she tries.

“You have enough stories to cover lifetimes yet you only look to be… well, thirty years at the most.”

“I’ve lived a full life,” she tries.

“Regina…” he looks at her. “I can’t go on pretending I don’t know, it’s too hard now. The man who said he made you… I saw him fly away. I know the myths. Are you… one of them?”

“At least have the courage to say the word of what you are accusing me of being,” she dares, thinking Robin will never, it’s too ridiculous for a man such as himself. He will dance around it but he never will have the guts to name it—

“Vampire,” Robin rasps. “Are you, Regina?”

For a moment she is stunned and scared.

“You sound sick,” she says defensively, trying a chuckle that sounds more like a fearful sob. “If you share your foolish theories with others they may lock you up and take away Roland. I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Robin asks, ignoring her threats and warnings. Her face softens. “Now that I know, are you going to hurt me?”

“You don’t know anything, Robin,” she responds, walking away. “You know nothing.”

“Will you hurt Roland?” he asks, and it’s that that has her turning around wagging her finger in the air, an inch away from his face.

She knows she’s screwed her face into the hateful stare few people get to see, and from the look of Robin, he hadn’t expected it to be in her.

“I would _never, never ever_ hurt a child,” she spits back. “You really think me capable of—”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think you’re capable of anything like this, but I don’t know how this… works. I don’t know how to reconcile what I saw and heard that night with how you are with me. The woman I see and speak to every day is the farthest thing from a monster, but I—”

“But you think I’m one anyway, is that it?” she asks, her heart racing. “That’s enough, Robin, I’ve apparently overstayed my welcome here. I’ll be gone.”

“No, Regina, please, let’s talk about this. It’s late, don’t run off.”

“Monsters don’t care about the lateness of the hour,” she snarls back. “If I am what you say I am, you shouldn’t worry.”

“But I do,” she hears him say before she slams the door behind her.

He's lying. He doesn’t care.

Perhaps he’s intrigued in the supernatural. Perhaps he wants some sort of reward (that’s not him, couldn’t be). Perhaps he has some perverse interest and she’s perfect to satisfy his desires (not it, either).

It doesn’t matter what it is, because she’s going to leave. Tonight.

But when she enters Granny’s, a familiar voice comes in from the pub. “How long is the coroner to be?” the man asks. “They should shed some light on the situation, I would think.”

“It’s clearly murder,” a man answers. “How else could he die?”

“He could have fallen or jumped off a bridge,” Waryn answers, “couldn’t he?”

“Not Mendell. He’s no idiot. And not suicidal either.”

“Well, we shall see. Or you will have to see — I will be gone by morning.” He looks at her, winking. Fuck, he has seen her the whole time. “As I said before, I’m so fortunate to find this tavern on my journey. Good drink, good food,” he smiles at Regina knowingly, “and good company.”

She wants to throttle him. RIght here, right now. Wants to place every ounce of strength she has into fighting him, knowing it’s a losing battle. He’d destroy her, without question. But she could get a punch in there. Could cause some damage to him.

And maybe that would be worth the beating.

Of course, the smart move would be to say nothing and leave early in the morning herself. Away from the town that has just discovered a very peculiar murder and the man she likes far too much who knows far too much about her.

She absolutely should leave this town immediately.

But then she looks again at Waryn Gold’s smug face, his smile that looks so pleased, so frustratingly satisfied.

And she just knows.

He did this so she would disappear.

There’s something about this town, something about her relationship with the people in it, that very much threatens Waryn Gold.

And she doesn’t know what it is, but she’s certain of one thing, as reckless as it is: she’s not leaving.

.::.

Robin should be terrified of her.

But he’s not.

He shouldn’t have ever asked if she would cause harm to his child, he knows her to be incapable. It’s just so hard, realizing what she is and reconciling her obvious compassion and emotions with the horror stories he’s grown up with.

But in fact, he’s more worried for Regina than he is worried about her. He’s worried that the beautiful young woman in his life is being threatened and tormented by a monster.

He shouldn’t have confronted her with this.

Did he expect her to confess to being a supernatural creature right in his house? And then not worry about his reaction, what he could do?

He knows nothing about that night was a dream, the night he saw Regina with the man who called himself her father, the person who made her. There was so much self-loathing. Regina hates what she is. Of course, she’d love to deny it as much as she can.

He robbed her of the chance to pretend to be human and accused her of plotting to harm his son when he full well knows she’s had many opportunities if she’s wanted.

And Regina had also proved her compassion that night with that creature. She defended Robin and Roland. She threatened the creature just so he would stay away from them.

She protected them when she barely had spent a few days with them. And how did he repay her? By proving he didn’t trust her.

What he should have asked was, can she truly protect them from that creature?

Can she protect herself?

Robin cannot answer that question. So he gingerly climbs into bed with his son, holding him as he waits and hopes for sleep to take him, leaving him safe and well-rested in the morning.

Should he live, he’s going to make things right, if he can.

.::.

“You’ve been in a foul mood all morning,” Walter Merlin notes, as Regina groans adjusting the prices of medication. Walter doesn’t know how to set prices. Everything is above or below what it should be.

“I didn’t sleep well,” she says simply.

Merlin narrows her eyes at her as if he’s trying to figure out the reason for her poor sleep. “Did you hear news of the body found last night? I am sure it kept many people up.”

“I’m not afraid,” Regina lies. She is, but of course, not of the monster.

She stayed awake all night, staring out her window until she spotted Waryn Gold leaving. He came out of the inn as a man, then turned into his bat form and fluttered away almost intentionally lingering in her window before flitting off into the moonlight.

“We don’t have many murders here. I’m sure it’s quite normal in London, but here, on the outskirts… we don’t really. There’s a sense of safety here.”

“No one should ever feel entirely safe,” Regina shrugs. “Danger is everywhere.”

“Odd, hearing that from you,” Merlin notes. “You seem fearless.”

“Because I can handle myself,” she reminds.

“The body was said to have no blood,” Merlin sighs. He looks almost… too knowledgeable on the subject. “They say perhaps it was the leeches that drained him.”

“What else could it be?” Regina asks with fake laughter.

She narrows her eyes on Walter when he doesn’t answer.

“Oh, surely you aren’t some fool who believes in monsters and vampires,” she scoffs.

“I am a fool,” Merlin says softly. “Haven’t you heard the chatter about town? An old, drunken fool who will never get over the loss of his wife.”

Regina shakes her head. “Don’t say that, Walter. Healing will come.”

Walter Merlin shakes his head. “Perhaps. But I really wish you would be careful on the streets alone. And don’t sleep too close to the window.”

“I won’t, I promise, Walter,” she smiles at him, touched by his concern. “But I assure you that I can take care of myself.”

Walter Merlin just shakes his head and lets the conversation die. But he’s not quite the same. At lunch, he tells her he’s going up to his bedroom to _Take a short nap_ , but Regina knows from the expression on his face, the way his body shakes, the guilt swimming in his eyes, that he intends to drink himself into unconsciousness.

“Take care of yourself,” she says softly, giving him a wave.

She cares for this poor tortured man in a way she cannot describe.

Hours later, a woman comes flushed and nervous. “Is Walter here? My daughter… she’s had a bad fall, I need an apothecary.”

“Have you sent for a surgeon?” Regina asks. “Mr. Merlin is… indisposed.”

“We have none nearby,” the woman says. “I worry for my daughter _now.”_

“Merlin is… unavailable,” Regina says again. “but, he’s taught me and I’ve trained other under apothecaries.”

She glances at her and raises an eyebrow.

This is highly unusual, and Regina knows it. She’s untrained and, more importantly, she’s a woman.

But there’s already talk about town that Regina is doing the majority of the work. The men won’t ever accept it, they would deny she would ever know enough as a drunken man, but some of the women, she knows they are coming along.

“My husband will be out working for hours,” she mutters, “Please help me. And tell no one about this.”

Regina grabs the apothecary bag and promises that no one will know.

.::.

The maid is chased out of the house before Regina is permitted to enter, the lady of the house thoroughly embarrassed, it seems, to be accepting help from the strange new woman in town.

Even worse, the strange new woman they think is a prostitute.

The young girl — Grace is her name — has minor cuts and scrapes, one deep gash she must sew up. The blood smells dirty (delicious still, it smells delicious and tempting, and Regina must feed soon), so she applies some carbolic acid to the wound and instruments, much to the girl’s dismay. She cries out in pain despite the whiskey Regina had given to her.

“What are you doing?” asks her mother, startled. “What is that?”

“Antiseptic,” Regina says calmly. “It keeps things clean. Prevents gangrene.”

The woman just nods, tears in her eyes. “Her arm, milady.”

“it doesn’t feel right,” Grace breathes.

Regina presses on the small bump on his arm and she jolts forward, crying in pain.

“Gracie!” the mother cries. “Quiet, we don’t want to draw attention from passersby!” Grace locks her jaw and closes her eyes tight, swallowing the rest of the pain silently

“Are you a witch?” Grace asks when she opens her eyes.

“Gracie, there is no such thing as witches.”

“She looks like a witch,” she says in her half dazed voice, a bit drunk off the generous amount of whiskey Regina had provided to help dull the pain.

“That’s a very rude thing to say!” barks his mother. She turns to Regina, “I’m so sorry, miss, she would never mean to insult you like that if she had her wits about her.”

“No, witches aren’t gross like people think. They are pretty. Very pretty,” Grace says in a singsong voice. “And not all witches are bad witches.”

Grace looks at her as if she sees so much more than she’s used to. Regina feels on display for a moment.

“Your arm is broken, but it’s not a bad break. It won’t need to be reset. That’s a good thing.”

“I don’t need to get… a surgeon or maybe the blacksmith, or—” the mother's eyes are wide and full of fear.

“No. She just needs rest. And her arm needs immobilization.”

Regina takes out plaster of Paris bandages. “I need to bind her arm in this, and I’ll need water and rags.”

The bone is more bent than broken, just a partial fracture that could become a full break if not bound tightly, so Regina is careful, smiling as the girl looks at her work, mesmerized.

“How did you learn to do this?” Grace asks.

Regina smiles. “Oh, I worked for some surgeons. And even some physicians.”

“And they taught you?”

“Mhm, they sure did.”

“I knew you weren’t a bad witch,” the girl says softly.

“Grace, darling, stop calling her a witch. She’s a very nice lady that helped us.”

“It’s okay,” Regina winks. “People have called me worse.”

“I know,” Grace whispers back. “I heard you were a loose woman, but no one would tell me what that means. Who needs to tighten you?”

“Grace!” her mother scolds. “Ms. Mills, I am so, so—”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Regina waves off. “I’m well aware of what people think and what people say.”

She wipes a wet cloth over Grace’s forehead, cleaning some dirt off of her. “You’re to sleep now, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Grace says, pressing against the pillows of the threadbare couch. “I have chores to do, though.”

“I wish you had thought of that before you decided to play daredevil,” her mother sighs. “But your brothers and I can manage for a tick. Rest.”

“I’m sorry, mum,” Grace whispers.

“It’s alright, love, just glad you’re all healed up,” her mom whispers, kissing her forehead as she ushers Regina to the hallway.

“I didn’t even introduce meself,” the mother mutters in her thick accent, “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need. You were worried about your little girl.”

“I’m Priscilla,” she says, holding out a hand, “Or Mrs. Evermore, if you’d like.”

“Hello, Priscilla,” Regina smiles. “You have a lovely daughter.”

“She’s a spitfire,” Priscilla mutters. “She earned those wounds falling out of a tree. She climbs it and jumps off the branch into a pile of hay. _For fun._ ” She shakes her head. “No fear of God or consequence alive in her.”

Regina thinks she likes Grace.

“Children and their bravery,” Regina shakes her head. “I’m sure many powerful men wish they had a sliver of that youthful courage.”

Priscilla tilts her head then and looms her over. “It’s not true what they say, is it?” she asks.

Regina shakes her head. “But what is truth in these times? My story was written the moment I entered a tavern without a husband, late at night in a new town. It doesn’t matter that I don’t actually sell my body, does it? Just being in that tavern is already a sin.”

“You helped my girl,” Priscilla praises. “I won’t soon forget that kindness. I’m sorry for what people say.”

If only rumors were Regina's only problem. But frankly, she doesn’t have the luxury to give a damn about her status in this town.

“I cannot help what is said,” she admits with a shrug. “But I refuse to try to fit into a role I do not just to avoid some whispered words and a little light shunning.”

Priscilla is thoroughly amused at that. “You sound like my daughter, god help her.”

Regina wonders if Grace didn’t inherit that love of danger from her mother herself. Something about her stance, about the way the corner of her lips curve upwards when she spoke of her daughter’s exploits, that has her convinced the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Priscilla looks out the door and frowns, leaning toward the clock on the wall.

“It’s late. Your boss will be looking for you. Will you be alright?”

Regina laughs. “He gives me a lot of freedom. I’m sure I will be fine.”

“I hope he is feeling better… assuming he was under the weather this morning?”

Regina sighs. There’s no point in hiding his addiction from the people here. They know, even though they may be too polite to say anything out loud.

“Today will be hard on him,” Priscilla murmurs. “You know, with how his wife died.”

“How did she die?” Regina asks. “He never told me.”

“Well, she was taken, actually. He claimed a beast took her, a devil who wears the clothes of a man. He was suspected to have killed her himself, but… no body was ever found. Some believe she left him. But he swears he watched her die. He watched her get _eaten_. By some kind of beast.”

Regina narrows her eyes.

She knows of so few monsters in this world. The worst of them is what she is.

And the most likely to carry off a body, too, come to think of it.

Of course, there’s no knowing whether this is true. It could have been anything.

“He was never the same after that,” Priscilla tells her. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I’ve heard,” Regina nods. “I’m sorry, I should go. I hope your daughter recovers.”

Walter Merlin is not back at his shop, and that concerns Regina.

Regina can only go so far, up to the door to his flat above the apothecary.

She cannot open that door. Not without permission

She can smell from beyond that door, though. Merlin sick. Something is not right in there.

She knocks loudly.

“Walter? Walter are you all right?”

She hears a breathless moan, barely audible even with her extraordinary hearing.

No, this is not good at all.

She tries for the doorknob anyway.

It boils in her hand, scratching hot to touch, but she twists it anyway, through the pain.

But it’s no matter. The door won’t open for her. The invisible barrier is solid. It won’t even let Regina open a door, let alone across a threshold. Fuck.

She feels responsible for this human, far more than usual, even without the possibility that one of her own ruined his life.

He’s given her a job and more important his respect.

She knows what she has to do. It’s a risk, but without taking it, this man might die.

.::.

Robin almost can’t believe it when he sees Regina walk into August’s shop.

He had expected she would never voluntarily see him again, with as angry and indignant as she was.

He half expected her to leave town.

But she is here, and he can see the fear dripping off her face.

“I need your help,” she directs, her voice commanding thought her eyes and posture show she’s not as confident as she appears.

“What?” Robin asks. He tries to hold it together, to keep himself from reminding her of how she dismissed him, pushed him away, called him _sick_. If she thinks so little of him how could she come back here and ask that of him?

“I know I’m not your favorite person right now but the help isn’t for me. It’s for Walter Merlin. He’s sick.”

“I… I can’t help with that,” Robin says, “I’ll help send for a doctor, I could—“

“No, I just need you to help me break down the door to his flat. He’s in there but sick and can’t open it for me. Please.”

“How do you know that he’s sick if—“

“I just know,” she interrupts. “Please, Robin. He is a good man.”

"Of course," he murmurs.

He follows her towards Merlin’s home in silence.

And when he reaches the door, he tries to fiddle with the lock only to find it is not locked at all.

He looks at her with curiosity.

“This door is open, Regina.”

She says nothing.

He peers inside, and sure enough, Merlin is on the floor, completely passed out. “Shit, Walter!”

There’s vomit on the floor and whiskey soaking the carpet, but he feels Walters light breath coming out, thank god.

“Regina, please, help! He needs… god I know know what he needs.”

She remains in the hallway, hovering outside the entrance, and what the fuck is going on?

“Regina, god damn it, why aren’t you helping him?”

She purses her lips, those beautiful eyes so expressive, so defeated as she admits, “You need to invite me in, first.”

For a second, he cannot breathe.

It's all out into the open, now.

No need to hold on to that seed of doubt he's carried with him that he was hallucinating the entire thing.

Perhaps he shouldn’t let her in. She could drink Walter Merlin dry here, and he wouldn’t protest. An easy kill.

This could be a ruse to satisfy her cravings, to kill again.

Vampires are supposed to be manipulative and conniving, monsters that look like beautiful men and women, who captivate and entrance their victims.  

Everything he knows about her kind tells him to not let her in.

But possessed as he might be by her, everything he knows about her screams the opposite is true.

He looks up at her and locks eyes as he says the words.

“Regina, please come in.”

She averts her eyes as she rushes inside toward Merlin, and all Robin can do is hold his breath and wait for her to take action.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for #oqpromptparty2019, special prompt: Hunger - Regina can’t stop thinking about Robin and goes for a run to clear her head

Merlin is slowly coming back to life after Regina assisted him in vomiting enough to get whatever liquor or concoction of pills and potions left in his stomach out before it could kill him.

He’s still groggy and out of it, but Regina keeps pouring water on his head, keeps urging him to drink between his constant apologies that she keeps telling him he needn’t say.

It’s been Robin’s job to supply the water and now to make a strong cup of coffee to wake him.

Now, coffee in hand, he watches as Regina comforts Merlin, a pit growing in his stomach.

“You didn’t have to save me,” Merlin whispers to Regina, who is still inspecting him, still checking his pulse and feeling his head.

“I wanted to save you,” she tells him.

“Perhaps I did not wish to be saved,” Merlin whispers back.

“You say that now, but the sun will come up one morning and you will be glad to still be alive.”

“Right now I envy Greg Mendel,” he admits sadly.

“Don’t say such things,” Regina scolds. “You are a good man who does not deserve to be envious of such a rotten waste of a life.”

“I’m sorry, my sweet girl,” Merlin chuckles. “You were to be an apprentice, but all you’ve done is care for an old man who has nothing to live for.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better mentor,” Regina says, surprising Robin. “You’ve been a good boss to me, kind and caring. You matter very much to me and the others in town. I wish I knew a cure, something to get you over this past trauma you are stuck on. But we are all here waiting for you to recover, helping you as you stumble.”

“Coffee,” Robin says then, walking toward Merlin with a cup. “Should help wake you a bit, if your stomach is up to it.”

“I don’t know what my stomach can handle anymore,” Merlin sighs.

He looks at the coffee as if he really doesn’t want to drink it. But Regina’s hand is on his back, soothing, encouraging, Robin thinks. And then he takes a sip.

And then another.

Regina stays with him until he can keep down liquids. Until he’s able to sleep. She walks around the house collecting liquor bottles and putting them into a bag, asking Robin to help her.

“He can get these back when he’s recovered,” she says. “No liquor for now. Really I should say no liquor forever. But I know I cannot prevent him from drinking for too long.”

Robin nods.

There is so much left unsaid between them the awkwardness is almost overwhelming.

So the second they leave Walter’s flat and walk back to the apothecary on the floor below, Robin cannot keep his questions in anymore.

“Regina, we need to talk.”

“I’ll leave,” she says quickly. “Please do not tell people. I ask this not for my own safety but for the safety of others.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Robin says quickly. “ You… you are protecting us here. I know it. You’re saving Merlin’s life—”

“I am the reason he almost died,” she says, wagging a finger in his face. “Whatever happened to his wife reminds him of Greg Mendel’s death, and we know my role in that now, don’t we?”

“Walter was practically begging for death,” Robin murmurs. “Yet you worked so hard to save his life.”

“Curious, isn’t it?” Regina asks bitterly.

“Please, let us talk about this somewhere safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe for me now,” Regina mutters. “I’ll be leaving. You won’t see me again.”

“We need you here,” Robin insists. There’s a creature out there that threatened me and my son. And a man is dead and I’m a suspect, and you are a witness to my whereabouts. I need you, please.”

“I’m also the murderer. And you know what I am,” she says defeatedly. “How can you want me near your family, your friends, your son?”

“If you wanted to kill us, we would already be dead,” Robin shrugs.

Regina tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “You don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t been hungry yet.”

“You were hungry the night I met you,” Robin ventures. “I could tell.”

Regina’s posture changes, she sighs and nods. “ _Starving._ I was starving.”

“You had many opportunities to kill me,” Robin reminds. “You could have eaten both me and John on that cargo ship, with nary a witness.”

She just stares back at him, as if unsure what to say.

“I think I am safe around you,” Robin surmises. “And well, the children definitely are.”

“People always worry about the children,” she whispers, walking toward the back room of the apothecary and ushering Robin toward it. She grabs one of Merlin’s glasses and pours him a drink and then sits down, urging him to sit on the little couch by the wall. “My kind don’t go after children absent a necessity or some sort of emergency. Not that it has anything to do with morality, for most of us anyway.” She sighs and looks at Robin, her self-loathing so evident. “They are less trusting of us than adults. I’m not sure why. Harder to lure. And…” she bites her lip and admits, “children are small. They aren’t… there is not enough blood to quell the hunger.”

Robin tries his best to school his features, but he’s grateful he’s sitting down, for he thinks he would surely fall over at Regina’s painful admission.

“My body isn’t my own anymore,” she explains. “It is the body of a perfect predator. It takes over, overrides me when survival is at stake. If I’m threatened enough it can become _very_ dangerous.”

“Did I threaten you?” Robin asks softly.

“No…” Regina admits. “I don’t think you want to harm me. I never have.”

“I don’t,” he says, “I want to help.”

“You can’t,” Regina says simply. “I’ve tried to kill myself in every way you might have heard from books or legends. It doesn’t work. I don’t die.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Robin says in earnest. “I want you to _live_. There has to be a way to… cure this, or to break the curse, to—”

“Oh, I don’t think that exists,” Regina smiles. “And I look at this more as a virus than a curse. The best I can hope for is death. There is a way to kill me, but I don’t know how. Transformation back into a human is unheard of.”

“Why was that man threatening you? Why did he threaten _us?”_

“That man was my maker. And I don’t know why he’s so intent to ruin my life here. But he — and other vampires frankly — don’t like my system. How I choose my victims.”

“Why?” Robin asks. “How do you—”

“It’s supposed to be random,” Regina explains. “All about who is in the wrong place at the right time. Kill those you can be disposed of easily. There’s no connection to people you associate with, no tie to you, no attention drawn. It’s safer.”

“But you don’t do that.”

“I don’t _want_ to kill anyone,” Regina explains. “But I tried to starve myself once. Hundreds died when my instincts took over. The least I can do is slaughter those who are as far from innocent as I can find.”

“What about the sick?” Robin asks, “the fatally ill? The dead, even.”

“There is a finite amount of time after death that the blood is… nutritious,” Regina explains. “And yes, I’ve used hospitals before. You need someone you can trust to say what illness is fatal, or alert you right after death is discovered. It requires, usually, confiding in a doctor. Not really allowed by the rules set by my council, so it’s a risk. It can often lead to more problems than it solves.”

Robin frowns. “Do you get sick from the blood of the infected?”

Regina laughs. “No, I've tried, many times, to drink the blood of the sick hoping to die. I never catch their illness. I never catch _any_ illness.”

“You’ve tried it, then.” Robin surmises.

“I try what I can,” Regina admits. “I’ve tried to exist on animals, the dead, tried eating leeches after they just fed on humans… Nothing works. I am just as strong and vicious as ever.”

“And yet you were around us and never hurt anyone.”

“I was in pain when I met you,” Regina says softly. “And when I hit a certain point my instincts take over. It was very dangerous, getting close to so many people when I was so hungry.”

 

“Are you hungry now?” Robin asks.

She shakes her head. “Not yet. But it comes in phases. Immediately after I eat, the thought of… blood is thoroughly unappetizing. Then after some time, it starts to be more appealing. But I’m not hungry yet, at least not unless tempted. Eventually, it comes. And then it becomes difficult and a bit frightening.”

“Do you like it here?”

Regina looks confused at the question.

“I mean, you have a home, you have a job, you have friends. What would you do if you left now? Go to a new town and start all over?”

She shrugs. “I suppose, yes. I’ve done it many times.”

“Don’t go,” Robin shakes his head. “Stay with us. At least until you have to… if you feel yourself… needing to eat.”

She laughs bitterly. “I can’t do that. You will always be suspicious of me.”

“Will I?” Robin asks.

He grabs a letter opener from Merlin’s desk and points it toward his skin.

“Don’t,” she says.

“I trust you,” he tells her.

He doesn’t listen. He cuts his hand and exposes the bloody gash to her.

It smells good, so good, but her stomach doesn’t rumble, she doesn’t even have a flash of how easy it would be to feast on him.

“You couldn’t do that in a few weeks without tempting me,” she mutters.

“I still wouldn’t worry,” he answers.

Regina rolls her eyes and opens her apothecary bag, tending to the wound.

“Stay for the selfish reason that you are making our lives easier. There is no nearby doctor here, no nearby surgeon. We must beg the surgeons and doctors from London to treat us. And our apothecary, who we rely on in an emergency, let’s face it, can no longer do his job competently.”

Regina has to agree with that. “I can help him,” she suggests. “For a short time.”

“What of that… creature I saw you with in the woods?”

“He is the same _creature_ that I am,” she says, insulted at his words and yet knowing she has no right to be. She certainly isn’t human. _Creature_ is better than _monster._

“No, he is not,” Robin insists. “Not any more than Roland is the same as Greg Mendel.”

Regina bites her lip and thinks that Robin may have a point.

“He won’t harm you. He wanted me out of this town for a reason. I just don’t know why. If I leave, he gets what he wants, I believe.”

“What if he wants someone in this town and wants you out of the way?” Robin asks.

“I don’t think so,” Regina bites her lip. “He would have told me the people I’ve managed to get myself involved with. He’d mock me with how foolishly I stepped into his territory. That’s more his style.”

“If you’d like, I can tell you how to protect yourself against our kind. The rules you’ve learned are mostly disinformation spread by us to confuse humans, to make them think they hold power and knowledge when they do not.”

“No aversion to sunlight or garlic,” Robin states as if he’s already done some calculations.

“Right,” Regina nods. “We cannot enter your home without an invitation. I don’t know how that works, but it’s right. And we are _strictly_ forbidden from drawing too much attention to ourselves. Killing in the open would get us into trouble. If someone looks like they will make too much noise, we don’t approach. You can only eat so much, so fast.”

“You sound invincible,” he murmurs. “I wonder why you haven’t entirely taken over, screw who sees you.”

“Some humans know how to destroy us,” she shrugs, “They are dangerous to us and know it. They hide in shadows, they don’t advertise their powers. But they can knock out a lot of us somehow. I’ve looked for them, but if I’m found searching for one to kill me, I will be taken and tortured by the council. Suicide is strictly forbidden. I don’t know why.”

Robin nods. “Anything else?”

“If you carry a rifle, a vampire most likely won’t approach. Rifles are loud. Draw attention. Travel in large groups — killing a group risks someone getting away and calling others to help. The more witnesses, the harder it is to conceal our existence.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “There are none of us around this village at the moment. There are a few in London, but they are well fed in the city. They won’t venture out here, especially with the news of Greg Mendell, I am sure they will stay away. It notifies them that one of us is here. And someone who has been decidedly not careful. They don't want any involvement with someone like me.”

“Will you be in trouble with your kind for Greg Mendell?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I weighed his body down in the river which is a perfectly acceptable way to hide a body. No one saw the kill. I suspect my maker freed the body to scare me off. But if council investigates they will find the truth to my story and my maker broke the protocol. I am safe. My maker took the risk here.”

Robin nods. “Stay,” he asks of her again. “I swear on my son’s life I will keep your secret. This may not make much sense, but town feels safer with you around. And there is a lot of good you can do here.”

She shouldn’t, but the thought of leaving him already stings at her heart, so she lets herself be convinced.

She will stay until she knows Robin is safe from blame for the Mendell murder. Or until Merlin has recovered. Or maybe until she runs out of accessible victims…

Robin doesn’t need to know when or who she will slaughter next. He doesn’t need to know when the hunger comes.

 _Nottingham_ she thinks. He comes next, she knows this. Perhaps Robin won’t remember telling her about him, and there can be some plausible deniability. His body certainly won’t be discovered — she will make sure of that.

“I won’t rush off right away,” she promises.

“That’s a start,” Robin smiles, “Do you enjoy to eat?”

She laughs. “Yes. It’s not exactly necessary for me to live, I can exist on blood alone, but I enjoy it like anyone.”

“Eat with us tonight?”

She almost can’t believe he’s inviting her, and even more confounding is the fact she takes him up on the offer.

.::.

“So that’s all you remember, Ms. Mills?”

The local detective has asked her where she was on the night in question, but she’s clearly not a suspect. She’s a small woman, and Greg was manhandled and carried into the river, miles from Granny’s.

The detective would never find her capable of such strength and speed.

“Yes. The maid at Mr. Locksley’s should be able to testify to our appearance. We were with Roland for hours.”

“And on the way to Mr. Locksley’s home, neither he nor Mr. Little ever strayed from your sight?”

“Never,” Regina states emphatically “I’m quite sure. I wouldn’t have known where to go without their directions.”

“Of course,” the detective nods. He narrows his eyes and says, “It must be frightening for you, a lady from such a small country village up north, traveling down and finding yourself in a town where a brutal murder takes place right near you.”

Regina stares back at him, dead into his eyes. “Oh, I’m not scared,” she confirms — because she knows that he can tell that already. He’s just seeing if she will admit it or lie about it.

“And why is that?”

“Because Greg Mendell was not a young, single woman. He was a man. From what I hear, a rather strong man. It stands to reason whoever murdered him had a preference or a reason for choosing him as a victim. I don’t fit the prototype.”

“So if prostitutes start being murdered in this town,” the detective asks coyly, “would you be worried for your life?”

“Terrified,” Regina deadpans. “Even though I, myself, am not a prostitute. I know what is assumed.”

“Hmm,” the detective strokes his beard and frowns. “Be careful out there, Ms. Mills. You may get away with being the odd, eccentric type in cities, but small villages aren’t as accommodating of young women rebelling against social conventions the way you do.”

“I’ll keep that advice in mind,” Regina lies, reaching for her apothecary bag. “Now, may I go?”

“Oh, of course,” the detective says, quite jovial. “But don’t be surprised if you are called in again for another little chat.”

“I will look most forward to it,” Regina says, letting the sarcasm drip off of each syllable.

She returns to work smiling to herself.

She can read humans quite well.

That detective read like frustration. He wants Robin and his friends to go down for this murder, but, she can tell, he simply has too much evidence as to their whereabouts and no way to connect them to such an awful crime.

Robin is safe.

.::.

Another week goes by. The investigation into Greg Mendell’s death is still ongoing, but Robin and John are no longer serious suspects, it seems.

Regina is still here, though, in no hurry to run off. Well, she has Walter Merlin to care for now.

The man is doing somewhat better. The next morning after his suicide attempt, he had greeted Regina with a tearful apology, promising he would never put her in the position where she had to save him again.

“I know you must see me weak, the way I grieve,” Merlin had told her, “how I can’t get over this, how so many other men have been able to recover much faster, and yet here I am, years later, still unable to live.”

“I don’t see you as weak, Walter,” Regina had assured. “Mourning one’s true love is never easy.”

“It’s not just mourning her death…” he had started, “It’s… it’s how she died, reliving it…”

That’s the part that causes Regina guilt. She doesn’t care that Greg Mendell is dead, and if anyone grieves his sorry waste of life she pities them, for he was truly vile and the Earth is more blessed without him in it.

But his death has set Walter Merlin back, reliving an old trauma he seems stuck in once again.

And she won’t leave him until he’s healed. This she promises herself.

Frankly, this promise is quite fortunate for her, because it means she gets to spend more time with Robin.

Or maybe it’s unfortunate, unfortunate to love spending time with someone this much.

Being around him makes Regina feel human. Emotional reactions she hadn’t experienced in years are back, things she faintly remembers from a century ago.

Like how just holding a person’s hand can send this jolt of something powerful through your body, it sets goosebumps down her spine and has her head buzzing with emotion.

He will say something kind to her and it makes a warmth bloom in her heart.

When they are apart, she finds herself thinking of him. She worries for Robin, but also feels pride for him in the things she’s heard and seen him accomplish, and there’s lust, that growing desire for him, that appreciation for his body and his facial structure….

He flirts with her, too. She thinks she was just imagining it but it’s clear as day.  He tells her she’s beautiful often, he always is reaching out to touch her in these innocent but meaningful ways. He teases her, this lighthearted, cute jokes.

Regina finds herself addicted to his company, and that’s why she’s accepted it nearly every night since Walter’s accident. Every night except tonight, that is. She’s becoming too reliant on him, too…. Attached.

Predictably, she felt that loss. She _misses_ him and it’s barely been a full day since she’s seen that beautiful obnoxious face of his.

She misses the way he looks at her, the way she feels around him.

But Regina is a monster, not a human, and it’s about time her cursed body and dark heart remember that and give this up.

She cannot sleep tonight, as much as she tries. She wants to see him so badly it’s making her restless.

She will have to feed soon, so perhaps that, perhaps killing someone, draining the life out of someone…. Maybe that will return her to normal (she hopes not, she’s enjoying this, even the painful parts are sweet).

She can’t think straight in bed, her body is restless, so she indulges it.

It’s late at night and she’s able to hide amongst the shadows until she reaches the edge of the river.

The moon is reflected so perfectly in the water. It’s quiet tonight. There are no ships out on the water.

Everything looks dark and beautiful and abandoned.

It’s the perfect conditions for a good run.

When Regina was human, running was not to be done by women, but she did it anyway. She ran as a child, running as fast as she could until she thought she could just fly away. She was always a different kind of girl, never cared much for what was expected of her.

When she became a bit older, she found that running helped lessen her anxieties. It also made her feel more in control in some odd way. The rush of adrenaline during those times was calming and inspiring. She solved many complex problems while running, oddly.

Regina has a complex problem to solve right now.

Robin.

She can’t stop thinking about him. She keeps reminding herself that she needs to stop caring so much. She also needs to stop wanting things she cannot have. She’s dreamed about being Roland’s mother and Robin’s wife, for fuck's sake. And for every logical reason she knows that these things cannot happen, the dreams and fantasies grow more intense.

Two days ago, Roland spilled his milk down Robin’s shirt and he had to take it off in front of her. She had the urge to run her tongue over the muscles, to taste him, touch him, he’s such a good looking man….

She runs faster. The trees blur together now, it’s too fast to do out in the open. It’s risky if she’s caught they will know her blurred form isn’t human.

She should care but doesn’t. She’s too busy caring about Robin.

Vampires aren’t supposed to feel this way about human men. At least, what little Gold told her about her kind leads her to believe that there’s very little interest in human men for things under than feasting. A human woman, yes, there’s been fixations at times, but they aren’t as innocuous as what Regina feels for Robin. Those vampires would feel compelled to feast on the object of their affection, then fill them with vampire blood and become their maker.

But she feels something much different for Robin, It’s oddly wholesome, despite the pent up lust, despite her body’s carnal urges when it comes to him. She can’t define this feeling, but it’s growing.

She would commit several crimes of both law and nature to keep him in her life. She’d do unspeakable things to make him happy.

And that is terrifying to her. She should be used to spending time alone.

But….

Now she knows what it’s like to have someone who knows her secret and embraces her for it, and it turns out someone like Robin makes this cursed life miserable.

That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?

Who says she deserves to feel anything other than miserable?

She runs until her feet give out, tears forming as she goes over every interaction, every touch, every moment that made her feel anything other than miserable.

And there are so many moments in such a short time. So many good, strong emotions that she hadn’t felt in years.

She’s not sure what this is, god she wished she had someone she trusted who was a vampire to tell her.

How can a human make her feel these things again? How is this working?

The soil is wet beneath her bare feet as she runs, and it actually feels good to her, running barefoot.

She had snuck around to see Daniel several times while barefoot.

The memory makes her smile as she continues to run as fast as she can.

Daniel. When she was human, emotions were so easy. She felt the same things she feels with Robin. Back then it wasn’t scary, and it wasn’t a mystery what each symptom mean - goosebumps, the rush of excitement, the painful blushing at his attention, how she couldn't stop thinking about him when he was gone….

She was in love with Daniel. That’s why it felt that way.

But she can’t be in love with Robin, right? He’s a human, a man, and she’s incapable of emotions like that, with that depth. Gold assured her that she wouldn’t feel the pain of heartbreak again when he converted her. He specifically told her love could no longer hurt her, because the emotion would never exist for her.

But her maker is a liar in so many ways. And it all seems clear now on this run.

Despite her lack of humanity, it seems she’s not safe from human emotions.

She finally stops running, pending down so her hands are on her knees, panting and struggling to keep herself calm.

Because she’s fairly certain this thing with Robin, it’s not normal. It’s not something she should be able to feel or experience.

And surely being able to feel love and be loved is something Regina should never get to feel again, so this will end horribly.

Yet she knows she won’t have the strength to leave him on her own, not when she feels this odd sense of belonging to him.

She’s fucked.

 


End file.
